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|  ALUMNI  LIBRARY, 

*    THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY, 

&  PRINCETON,  N.  J.  J 

■  ?  .«.  ji.  .n,  *fl/  .tatiSkJ^iO^- 


LIBEAEY 

OF  THE 

Theoi   >  g  i  e  a  1   Seminary, 

Case, 

Shelf, 

PRINCETON,    N.  J. 

"       ■        lP Division 

'         jf    <•*■<  A 

Book, 



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L    E    y^fczSr'TZr 


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K  at  '.  fl< 


A  FATHER  TO  HIS  SON, 

ON    VARIOUS     TOPI-CS, 


RELATIVE    TO 


Literature  and  the  CondnSi  of  Life* 


-WRITTEN   IN   THE   YEARS    1792.  AND    I  793, 

/ 

By  J.    A  I  K  I  N,    M.  D. 


LIBER.!    SEKSl    SEMPLICE    PARQLE. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PRINTED  FOR  MATTHEW  CAREY, 
Br  James  Carey, 


179$ 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2011  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://www.archive.org/details/lettersfromfatheOOaik 


CONTENTS. 


LETTER  I.  INTRODUCTORnp.  13  —  lo- 
cation, its  purpofes — Benefits  of  a  copious  and 
varied  one — Oppofite  plan  cf  our  fchools  and 
univerGties,  whence  derived — Advantage  of  an 
unfhackled  fyftem  cf  life — PurpoTe  of  the  fub- 
fequeat  ferics  cf  letters. 

Lstteji    II.     On  Strength  of  Charatter,  p.    18. — 

Natural  and  moral  procefs  of  acquiring  it — 
Caufes  of  weaknefs,  falfe  mame — fear  of  of- 
fending— fear  of  giving  pain — defire  of  pleat- 
ing all  mankind — The  writer's  own  experience. 

L-tter  III.  On  Attachment  to  the  Ancients,  p.  24. 
— Prevalence  cf  tin's  attachment— Mode  cf 
determining   the  comparative  merit  of   ancients 

and     moderns — Man     an     improvable     being 

Poetry — the   deferiptive  kinds — the  higher   fpe- 
cies — Reafona  which  have  retarded  its  improye- 
A  2 


Vi  CONTENTS. 

ment — Veneration  for  the  ancients,  partly  owing 
to  their  language  being  that  of  the  Chriftian 
religion. 

Letter  IV.  The  fame  Subjecl  continued,  p.  31. 
— Philofophy  of  the  human  mind — Dead  and 
living  languages  compared — Manners  and  in- 
stitutions— The  flage — Caufes  of  prejudices  in 
favour  of  antiquity — Education  and  its  aflb- 
ciations — The  merit  of  an  author  confounded 
with  that  of  his  work — the  merit  of  a  work, 
with  its  cafual  value — Effects  of  a  dead  and 
foreign  language — Purpofe  of  thefe  rem  arks. 

ER    V.   On  the  Purfuit  of  Improvement,  p.  <$Q» 

Declamations      againft     improvement,     whence 

lg — their  inconfiftency — Perfection  molt 

able    in  civil  inftitutions — Examination  of 

the  affertion  that    principles   fpeculatively  rights 

are  practically  wrong— rhilofcphy,    what,   and 

its   merit:- — Sneering   manner  of  oppoihig  it— 

>U8  arguments  againft  it  considered. 

Lstter  VI.  f)n  the  Love  of  Jpplaufe,  exempli- 
fied in  the  younger  Pliny,  p.  46. — Pliny's  epiftlea 
not  familiar— their  purpofe  and  character — 'Mo- 
ral effects  of  love  of  praife — Pliny  a  man  of 
virtue — His  literary  vanity. 


Letter   VII.      On    the  Jory    of  Circe,   p.  50.— 
Alb^oncal  interpretations  of  Homer's  fables 


Contents.  v 

Of  that  of  Circe — The  fable   conlidered — Ob- 
jections to  its  moral  purpofe. 

Letter  VIII.  On  Nature  and  Art,  and  tht 
Love  of  Novelty,  p.  55. — The  Englifli  fchool 
of  arts  characterized — Novelty,  the  great 
requifite  to  amufement — Its  fources,  nature 
and  art — Necefiity  of  introducing  art — The 
true  object  of  thofe  called  imitative — Exem- 
plified in  the  drama — Dramatic  performances 
of  different  nations — Recitation  of  Englifh. 
verfe. 

Letter  IX.  The  former.  Subject  continued, 
p.  63. — Poetical  Language  of  Tragedy — 
Nature  and  purpofe  of  Paltoral  poetry — 
Romances  and  novels — Doctrine  of  novelty  fum- 
med  up. 

Letter  X.  On  Prejudice,  Bigotry,  Candour, 
and  Liberality,  p.  71. — Prejudice  defined — Rea- 
fonable  and  unreafonable  prejudices — Eigotry, 
its  character — Candour,  confounded  with  cha- 
rity— Falfe  candour  in  judgment — Candour 
of  temper-5-Liberality,  diitinguiihed  from 
indifference — Illiberal  tenets — The  words  ex- 
emplified. r- 

Letter  XI.  On  Religious  Societies,  p.  8c.—. 
On  the  character  of  fects — Religious  focieties 
diflinguifhed    from    fects — Their    genuine  pur- 

a3 


I1  CO    R     TENTS. 

pofes— Schifm — Condition  and  duty  of  a 
minifter. 

Letter   XII.     On  Reply  In   Contrvnerjj,   p.   87. 

— Story  of  Melandthon — Cafe  when  reply  is 
vmneceiTary — Caufes  which  render  it  proper 
— the  production  of  new  argument,  rnd 
mifreprefentation  in  matter  of  fael — The 
duty  of  individuals  to  refute  charges  againft 
them. 

Letter  XIII.  Oir  CJqjJlficat'wn  in  Natural 
Htjhry,  p.  92. — Natural  progrefs  of  clailifying 
objects— -from  differences,  and  from  refein- 
blances — UTes  and  purpofes  of  arrangement — ■ 
Natural  method — Artificial  method — The  Lin- 
nean  fyftem. 

Letter  XIV.  On  Buffbifs  Natural  Hifiory, 
p.  ico. — Buffon  charaelerifed — His  principle  of 
diminifhing  the  numbes  of  fpecies,  by  fuppoiing 
artincial  varieties — how  far  probable — Effecls  of 
Comeitication — Its  various  ilages — Moral  qua- 
lities of  animals. 

Letter  XV.  On  Ornaiivnial  Gardenings  p.  icS". 
— The  character  of  Engliih  gardening — EiTential 
idea  of  a  garden — An  appendage  to  a  houfe,  and 
therefore  regular — The  conftituent  parts  of  an 
artificial  garden  confidered — How  far  the  ap- 
pearance of  art  difgults— -  Deceptions  of  modem 


CONTENT?.  VU 

gardening — The  two  ftyles  compared  as  to  no- 
velty and  variety. 

Letter  XVI.  On  Pope's  EJfay  on  Criticifm, 
p.  119. — A  proper  object  of  criticifm  from 
its  fubjeft — A  truly  juvenile  performance — 
Its  method — Remarks  on  particular  pafTages, 
relative  to,  The  critical  profefiion — memory, 
under  {landing,  and  imagination — following  na- 
ture— imitating  the  ancients — beauties  not  re- 
ducible to  rule — clalTical  writers — the  cha- 
racter of  wit — verification — identity  of'mufic  and 
poetry — cenfure  of  admiration — of  impiety. 

Letter  XVII.  On  the  Analogy  between  Mental 
and  Bodily  Difeafe,  p.  135. — General  refem- 
blance  of  difeafes  of  body  and  mind  in 
the  means  o£  cure — Operation  of  contraries, 
and  coercive  motives — Practical  application  of 
the  doctrine  of  neceffity — Cafe  of  one  brought 
up  in  vice,  in  the  lowed  clafs — in  the  higher 
— Vices  of  certain  ftates  of  fociety — Great 
remedial  prcce^s^Ncceility  of  calamitous 
events. 

Letter  XVIII.  On  Spleen  and  Low  Spirits, 
p.  153. — Frequency  of  this  malady — Green's 
poem  on  the  Spleen — Neceffity  of  temperance 
in  preventing  low  fpirits — Benefit  of  employment 
— proper  kinds  of — Misfortune  of  high  rank  in 
this  refpect. 


Vlll  CONTENT?. 

Letter  XIX.  On  Confolaiion,  p.  150.— To 
whom  the  office  profeflional — The  real  caufe  of 
forrow  on  the  death  of  friends — A  felfifh  emo- 
tion, meafured  by  the  lofs — Subftitution  the  only 
remedy — Particular  confutation  to  widowers — 
widows — parents. 

Letter  XX.  On  the  Inequality  of  Condi!'.:-.:, 
p.  159. — View  of  a  great  city — How  far 
inequality  is  necefTary — Human  fociety  founded 
en  the  eiTential  qualities  of  man — Its  necefTary 
confequences— ^Purpofe  of  good  government, 
to  cheek  natural  inequality — Abolition  of  do- 
meflic  flavery  in  Europe — The  lower  clafles 
not  fo  wretched  as  they  feem — Real  evils  attend- 
ing them,  divided  into  necefTary  and  cafual — - 
The  latter  the  proper  objects  of  remedy — The 
probable  mode. 

Letter  XXI.  On  the  Prevalence  of  Truth, 
p.  169. — Limitations  of  the  maxim  that  truth 
will  prevail— Falfe  opinions  founded  on  hopes 
and  fears  infeparable  from  man — Supentition 
ftiH  prevalent,  and,  perhaps,  gaining  ground — 
le  of  arguing  by  which  it  is  fupported — 
The  fame  applied  to  religious  fyllems— Certain 
kinds  of  religious  opinions  likely  to  continue 
popular — Preparations  necefTary  for  the  recep- 
tion of  truth — How  far  truth  is  likely  to  prevail 
- — Its  benefits. 


CONTENT?.  2X 

Letter  XXII.  On  Second  Thoughts  end  N'.J- 
die  Courfes,  p.  179. — In  what  fenfe  fecond 
thoughts  are  beft — Firft  impreffions  moil 
to  be  depended  on  in  queftions  of  moral 
conduct — Sophiftry  of  the  Jefuits — Firft  decisi- 
ons of  reafon  alfo  frequently  the  foundeft — Oti 
what  thefe  differences  depend — When  the  middle 
way  is  not  the  fafeft — Mifchiefs  of  corr.promife. 

Letter  XXIII.  On  the  principal  faults  of  Po- 
etical Trarflatkn,  p.  187. — Purpcfe  of  translation, 
to  pleafe,  and  to  inform — Accommodations 
lieceffary  in  tranflating — Dangerous  latitude 
of  addition  allowed  by  Dr.  Jehnfon— & 
Odyiley — The  different  ideas  of  royalty  in 
different  ages,  a  principal  fource  of  faulty  traj  u  ■- 
tion — ex^.;  ;  in  the tranflation of  the Cdyffey 

— Excels  of  ornament — Lxrg:;cr^tion  end  hyper- 
bole— Effect  cf  rhyme — Criterion  of  transition. 

Letter  XXIV.  On  Ruins,  p.  199, — The  plca- 
fure  derived  from  them,  a  modern  idea— - 
Ruins  confidered  as  objects  of  fight — their 
value  as  relics  of  beautiful  architecture—- 
their  pi&urefque  effjcls— Confldercd  as  fenti- 
mental  objects — what  aSbciations  favourable 
to  this  purpofj— Confidered  as  historical  records. 

Lett  b  r  XXV.  Remark  en  an  Argument  in  favour 
of  the  reality  cf  Spectral  Appearances,  p.  2c8. — « 
Nature  of  Dr.  Johnfon's  credulity — Pafiage  f'om 


X  CONTENTS. 

Raffelas — In  what  cafes  univerfaKty  of  belief,  no 
argument — Conceptions  neceffarily  formed  of 
departed  fpirits — Gau'fes  of  delufion — Variations 
cf  fpedlral  appearances — Vifion  and  reality  con- 
founded— Varieties  of  form  and  cireumflance. 

Letter  XXVI.  tin  Cheap  Pkafures,  p.  217. — 
Love  of  pleafure  allowable — Advantages  from  a 
reliih  for  the  moft  procurable — The  fources  of 
thefe  enumerated — Books — Converfation — The 
ftudy  of  nature — A  tafte  for  the  external  beauties 
cf  nature — The  ornamental  arts. 

Letter  XXVII.  On  Attachment  to  Country, 
p.  229. — Patriotifm  an  early  paiTicn^— its  ten- 
dency to  excels — Attachment  to  country  as  it 
influences  opinions — erroneous  eflimates  cf  our 
country's  merits,  proceeding  from  pride  and  va- 
nity— errors  cf  difiike — Conduct  how  influenced 
by  attachment  to  country,  and  to  individuals — 
migration  of  friendo. 

Letter  XXVIIl.  On  Independence,  p.  238. — . 
Limits  of  independence — Advantages  of  it — 
Whiilon  and  Steele — Horace — Mode  of  acquiring 
independence — Not  owing  to  abfolute  fituation 
in  life — Its  true  fources,  moderate  defires,  and 
active  induflry — Ancient  philofophcrs,  and 
Chriflian  afcetics,  compared — Independence  does 
not  require  the  rejection  of  favours — How  far 
it  is  ufeful  to  contract  our  wifhes, 


CONTENTS,  %1 

Letter  XXIX,  On  the  Choke  of  a  Wife,  p.  248. 
— Peculiar  propriety  of  parental  advice  in  this 
matter — Ground  of  difference  of  opinion  between 
fathers  and  fons — The  main  qualities  requifite  in 
a  wife,  thofe  of  a  companion  and  a  helper- 
Good  fenfe  and  good  temper,  the  effentials— 
Defects  of  each  without  the  other — Additional 
qualifications  of  a  helper — Houfewifery — Vigour 
of  body  and  mind — calls  for  both  in  a  female— 
Perfection  of  female  character  the  fame  with 
that  of  male — Mifchief  of  hafly  engagements 
— Fortune  and  family  connexions. 

Letter  XXX.  Valediclory,  259. — Chief  pur- 
pofe  of  the  preceding  letters — Final  admom% 
tions. 


LETTERS 


FROM 


A  FATHER  TO   HIS   SON. 


LETTER    I. 


INTRODUCTORY 


To  A.  A. 


Y< 


O  U  have  row,  my  dear  fon,  nearly  fmimed  an 
education  which  has  been  conducted  upon  a  plan 
beft  adapted,  according  to  my  judgment,  to  the 
prefent  ftate  of  things,  and  to  the  fituation  you 
are  deftined  to  occupy.  It  has  been  a  varied  and 
cxtenfive  plan,  comprifing  many  changes  of  dis- 
cipline, and  embracing  a  large  field  of  inilrutlion. 
It  has,  I  hope,  prepared  you  both  for  active  and 
contemplative  life  ;  for  the  ftudy  of  books,  and  of 
men  and  nature.  It  has,  I  fay,  prepared  you  ; 
for  the  education  of  the  youth  can  only  be  prepa- 
ratory to  the  purfuits  of  the  man  ;  and  he  who  is 
B 


J4  L    E   T   T    L    R        I. 

bed  enabled,  from  a  eomprehenfive  view  of  the 
objects  before  him,  to  poffefs  himfelf  of  tbofe 
which  are  moil  worthy  of  his  choice,  is  beft 
educated. 

For  this  reafon,  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  cenfure 
ufually  paffed  upon  a  copious  fcheme  of  early  in- 
Uruaion.— that  it  is  calci-rlated  rather  to  make 
fmafterers  in  every  thing, '  than  proficients  in  any 
thing.  Let  but  a  folid  foundation  be  laid  of  thofe 
elemental  parts  of  learning  which  employ  the  me- 
mory when  that  is  the  only  faculty  in  full  vigour, 
and  it  is  immaterial  how  fiight  is  the  fuperftrurture 
firft  erected.  I  would  wifh  it  rather  to  refemble 
the  fcafiblding  of  a  great  building,  than  the  finiihed 
model  of  a  f  nail  one.  Befides  that  almoft  all  the 
branches  of  knowledge  have  a  mutual  connexion 
and  dependence  ;  it  is  the  only  way  of  pre- 
-\  eiitlng  narrow  prejudices  in  favour  of  any  one, 
at  the  fame  time  to  aiTord  a  profpect  of  feveral, 
and  alternately  to  excrcife  the  mind  upon  each. 
As  reafoning  confifls  in  the  comparifon  of  ideas, 
the  underftaudrng  cannot  be  furaifhed  with  too 
large  a  Hare  to  work  upon.  Nor  need  it  be  ap- 
prehended that  confufion  will  arife  from  the  early 
mixture  of  a  variety  of  objects  in  the  mind  ;  or 
that  the  time  ufually  allotted  for  education  will 
prove  iufufticient  for  acquiring  the  principles  of 
general  knowledge.  The  phyfical  character  of  the 
mental  and  bodily  frame  in  youth,  is  an  aptitude 
for  various  exertions,   but  an   impatience   of  con<t 


INTRODUCTORY.  *5 

firiement  to   a  fmgle   cne.      The  mind  and  body 
can  fcarcely  at  that  period  be  too  much  employed, 
provided  employment   be  judicicufiy   varied  ;    and 
numerous   examples   have   proved,    that  prodigious 
acquiiitions   may  be  made   in   very   early  life,    by 
thofe  who  have  proper  objects  prtfented  to  them. 
I    know  that  feme  have  chofen  to  reprefeiit   thefe 
acquiiitions   as   fugitive,    and   as    calculated    rather 
to  make  extraordinary  children,  than  diilinguiihed 
men.       This    is    undoubtedly    the    cafe    when    the 
fludies   of  youth   are  laid   ahde  in  more  advanced 
years  ;     but  when  they  are  unremittingly  followed 
up,   I  fee  no  reafon  to  doubt  that  the  lead  gained 
at  the  outfet,  will  be  preferved  during  the  courfe. 

You  are  apprifed,  as  well  as  myfelf,  that  the 
eftablifhed  fyilem  of  fchool  and  univerfity  educa- 
tion in  this  country,  is  as  oppoiite  as  poffible  to 
thefe  ideas  ;  but  we  know  that  this  lias  happened, 
not  in  confequence  of  a  preference  founded  upon 
fair  companion,  but  either  of  habits  and  ways  of 
thinking  tranfmitted  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion, or  of  a  neceffity  derived  from  the  plans  cf 
future  life.  Where  honours  and  emoluments  are 
only  to  be  obtained  by  particular  acquirements, 
thefe  receive  a  relative  importance,  which-  mini 
continue  as  long  as  the  fame  circumfcances  exile. 
If  Greek  and  Latin  be  the  only  paiTports  from  the 
fchool  to  the  univerfity  ;  and  Greek  and  Latin 
dill,  with  antiquated  logic  and  abilra£l  mathe- 
matics, be  the  means  of  inducrion  to  degrees  and 

B    2 


l6  LETTER       I- 

fellowfhips,  and  thence  of  admiiTioii  to  lucrative 
offices  in  church  and  ftate,  they  will,  without 
queflion,  he  the  leading  objects  of  attention  to 
thofe  who  are  educated  for  the  purpofe  cf  obtain- 
ing: thefe  offices.  But  their  value  in  this  cafe  is 
properly  profejfional,  and  ought  no  more  to  form  a 
rule  of  eflimation  for  perfons  wkh  different  vieWs* 
than  the  value  of  legal  and  medical  knowledge  to 
lawyers  and  phyiicians. 

It  is  a  great  advantage  attending  an  unfhackled 
plan  of  life,  that  thefe  artiiicial  eftimates  of  things 
may  in  good  meafure  be  avoidtd.  There  is  nothing 
in  your  deftmstion  which  obliges  you  to  purfue 
any  other  courfe  of  fludy,  than  that  belt  fitted 
to  enlarge  your  mind,  and  ilore  it  with  the  moll 
ciTentially  valuable  products  of  human  knowledge. 
The  fciences  which  will  be  properly  profefiional 
to  you,  thofe  of  ethics  and  theology,  Hand  at  the 
head  of  fuch  as  dignify  a  rational  being.  Critical 
and  polite  literature  is  not  only  valuable  for  the 
ailiilance  it  affords  in  the  purfuit  of  thofe  (Indies, 
but  for  the  pure  and  elevated  pleafures  it  is  capable 
of  yielding  as  an  ultimate  object.  The  ftudy  of 
nature  under  her  various  forms,  which  cannot  but 
be  peculiarly  interelting  to  one  who  afpires  to  an 
acquaintance  with  the  Author  of  nature,  has  in  it 
likewife  every  quality  which  can  render  a  purfuit 
delightful.  To  all  thefe  the  exertions  of  your 
mind  will  naturally  be  turned.  Their  fources  will 
be  alike  open  to  you.     You  have  books,  leifurer 


INTRODUCTORY.  I  7 

and  friends  ;  but  you  have  no  friend  who  has  your 
improvement  more  at  heart  than  myfelf.  And  as 
the  longer  trail  I  have  pafTed  over  in  the  journey 
of  life,  has,  of  courfe,  given  me  a  more  extenfi.e 
acquaintance  with  fome  of  its  objects  than  you 
can  yet  have  acquired,  I  truft  you  will  not  think 
your  time  mifapplied  in  peruling  the  reiledlions  on 
various  topics,  inftruCiive  or  amufing,  which  1' 
mean  to  communicate  to  you  in  a  feries  of  letter?. 
Whether  my  fentiments  do  or  do  not  meet  with 
your  concurrence,  you  will,  by  examining  them, 
be  led  to  that  freedom  of  difcuifion,  without  the 
habit  of  which  no  difference  exifls  between  cpnicns 
stnd  prejudices. 

I  am, 

Your  truly  afFe&ionate  father, 

J.  A, 


B 


(      i8 


LETTER     II. 


ON      STRENGTH     OF     CHARACTER, 


DEAR     SON, 


I 


F  I  can  fpeak  experimentally  to  any  moral  benefit 
in  growing  older,  it  is,  that  increasing  years  aug- 
ment the  ftrength  and  firmnefs  of  the  character. 
This  is  a  part  of  the  natural  progrefs  of  the  human 
iyfteni,  and  is  probably  as  much  owing  to  phyfical 
as  to  moral  cauifes-  The  diminution  of  mobility 
and  irritability  in  the  animal  frame,  muft  fortify  it 
againft  external  imprefiions,  and  give  it  a  greater 
liability  in  its  action  and  re- action.  So  far,  how- 
ever, as  this  is  a  corporeal  procefs-,  it  cannot  be 
anticipated  ;  and  the  young  mufl  be  exhorted  to 
wait  patiently  for  this  advantage,  till  it  comes 
to  them  in  due  eourfe  of  time,  to  compensate  for 
the  many  privations  they  mufl  undergo.  But  if 
an  enquiry  into  the  purely  moral  eaufes  of  the  op- 
pofite  defects  can  fuggeft  moral  means  of  obviating 
them  in  fome  meafure  at  any  period,  it  will  cer- 
tainly be  worth  the  pains  j    for  a  d^  degree  of 


STRENGTH     OF    CHARACTER.  10 

firmnefs  and  confiftency  is  abfolutely  cffential  in 
forming  a  refpectable  character.  Let  us,  then, 
enter  upon  fuch  an  investigation. 

On  retracing  my  own  feelings,  I  find  that  the 
and  principal  caufe  cf  juvenile  weaknefs  is 
falfe  Jhame,  The  ftiame  of  being  lingular, — the 
fname  of  lying  under  restraints  from  which  others 
are  free, — the  fname  of  appearing  ungenteel, — 
are  all  acutely  felt  by  young  perfons  in  general, 
and  require  ftrong  principle  or  much  native  firm- 
nefa  of  temper  to  furmount.  Moil  of  the  de- 
fections from  parties  and  feels  in  which  perfons 
have  been  educated,  originate  from  this  fenfation, 
which  is  perhaps  mere  feductive  to  the  young, 
than  even  intereft  to  the  old.  It  firft  makes  them 
hefitate  to  avow  jthemfelves,  and  defirous  of  palTing 
ur.aiilinguifned  in  mixed  companies  ;  it  next  leads 
them  to  petty  deceptions  and  compliances  ;  and 
finifties  with  making  entire  converts  of  them,  fre- 
quently with  an  affectation  of  extraordinary  con- 
tempt cf  thofe  whom  they  have  forfaken,  in  order 
to  prevent  all  fufpicion  of  their  having  been  of  the 
number.  The  beft  guard  againft  this  conduct  is  a 
ftrong  impreffion  of  its  meannefo.  If  young  men 
were  brought  to  difcern  that  cowardice  and  ferti- 
lity were  the  chief  agents  in  this  progrefs,  their 
native  generality  of  fpirit  would  powerfully  eppofe 
fuch  a  degradation  of  character.  Still  more  might 
.be  gained  by  accuiloming  them  to  fet  a  value-  upon 
the  circumllance  cf  ftaading  apart  from  the  mafs 


20  t   E   T  T   E   R        II. 

of  mankind,  and  to  eiteem  as  honourable  every 
diftinclion  produced  by  the  exercife  of  freedom  in 
thinking  and  a&ing.  I  am  aware  that  there  is  a 
danger  to  be  avoided  on  this  fide,  too,  and  that  the 
pride  of  Angularity  is  equally  ridiculous  and  di f- 
guftful  in  a  young  man.  But  this,  I  believe,  is 
not  the  leading  error  of  the  times  ;  which  is  rather 
a  propenfity  to  fubmit  implicitly  to  the  decifions  of 
fafhion,  and  to  value  onefelf  more  upon  following, 
than  oppofmg,  the  manners  and  opinions  of  the 
majority. 

The  fear  of  offending  is  another  fnare  to  young 
minds,  which,  though  commonly  originating  in  an 
amiable  delicacy  of  character,  mull  in  fome  degree 
be  overcome  before  a  manly  ileadinefs  of  conduct 
can  be  fupported.  Many  inflances  have  I  known, 
in  which  the  fpecies  of  adulation  called  by  the 
Latins  affentaiioy  has  been  occaiioned  by  a  mere 
dread  of  giving  offence  by  contradiction.  But 
fuch  a  habit  of  afTenting  to  every  thing  that  may 
be  advanced,  is  in  danger  of  fubverting  all  our 
principles  ;  and  we  may  ccme  to  praclife  from  ar- 
tifice that  complaifance  which  we  perceived  to  be 
fo  agreeable,  when  only  the  confequence  of  modeft 
deference.  This  is  an  evil  attending  the  practice, 
otherwife  fo  inllraftive,  of  frequenting  the  com- 
pany of  fcniors  and  fuperiors  ;  and  it  is  onjy  to  be 
counteracted  by  a  fixture  of  free  fociety  with 
equals, 

Akin 


f^J_  ,73  ^ 


STRENGTH     OF     CHARACTER.  21 

Akin  to  this  is  the  fear  of  giving  pair..  It  in- 
fpires  an  infuperable  repugnance  to  the  delivery  of 
difagreeable  truths,  or  the  undertaking  cf  unplea- 
fant  offices  ;  things  which  in  the  commerce  of  life 
are  often  necefTary  to  the  difcharge  of  our  duty. 
Li  particular,  one  vvhcfe  office  it  is  to  apply  medi- 
cine to  the  mind,  mult,  as  well  as  the  physician  of 
the  body,  conquer  his  reluctance  to  give  temporary 
pain,  for  the  fake  cf  affording  Iailing  benefit. 
Excefs  of  politenefs  deviates  into  this  weaknefs. 
It  makes  no  diilinction  between  faying  an  unplea- 
faiit  thing,  and  faying  a  rude  one.  A  courfe  of 
fentimental  reading  is  likewife  apt  to  foiter  fuch 
an  extreme  delicacy  of  feeling,  as  makes  the  pain- 
ful duties  of  the  heart  infupportable.  The  mofc 
effectual  remedy  in  this  ftate  of  morbid  fenfibility, 
is  an  unavoidable  neceffity  of  mixing  in  the  bufinefs 
of  the  world,  and  encountering  all  its  roughnciTer. 
To  perfons  of  a  retired  condition,  the  belt  fubftitute 
is  ftrengthening  the  mind  with  the  dictates  of  a 
mafculine  and  high-tcneJ  philofophy. 

The  defire  of  pleajing  all  mankind,  which  is  the 
counterpart  of  the  two  former  principles,  is  a  fer- 
tile fource  of  weaknefs  and  mutability  in  fome  of 
the  belt  difpofitions.  It  is  the  quality  commonly 
termed  good-nature,  and  perhaps  is  in  fome  mea- 
fure  national  to  Englifhmen.  Young  perfons  are 
not  only  themfelves  prone  to  fall  into  excefs  of  eafy 
good  nature,  but  it  is  the  quality  that  moil  readily 
captivates  them  in  the  choice  of  an  early  friend. 


22  L   E   T   T   E   R.       11. 

It  is  irnpoiT;ble  here  to  blame  the  difpontion, 
although  it  be  highly  important  to  guard  againil 
the  indulgence  of  it ;  for  it  leads  to  the  very  fame 
imbecility  of  conduct  that  falfe  fhame  and  cowar- 
dice do.  In  the  courfe  of  our  duties  we  are 
almoil  as  frequently  called  upon  to  undergo  the 
cenfure  and  enmity  of  mankind,  as  to  cultivate 
their  friendship  and  good  opinion.  Cicero,  in 
enumerating  the  caufes  which  induce  men  to  de- 
fert  their  duty,  very  properly  mentions  an  unwil- 
lingnefs  "  fufcipere  inimicitias,"  to  take  up  enmi- 
ties. This  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  fevereil  trials  of 
our  attachment  to  principle  ;  but  it  is  what  we 
mull  be  ready  to  fuftain  when  occafion  requires, 
or  renounce  every  claim  to  a  flrong  and  elevated 
character. 

V/hen  young  in  life,  I  derived  much  fatisfaclion 
from  thinking  that  I  had  not  an  enemy  in  the 
world.  A  too  great  facility  in  giving  up  my  own 
intereft,  when  it  involved  a  point  of  contention, 
and  a  habit  of  affenting  to,  or  at  leafl  not  op- 
pofmg,  the  various  opinions  I  heard,  had,  in  fa£l, 
preferved  me  from  direct  hoftilities  with  any  mor- 
tal, and,  I  had  reafon  to  believe,  had  conciliated 
for  me  the  pajfive  regard  of  moll  of  thofe  with 
whom  I  was  acquainted.  Bat  no  fooner  did  dif- 
ferent views  of  .  things,  and  a  greater  firmnefs  of 
temper,  incite  me  to  an  open  declaration  re- 
fpecling  points  which  I  thought  highly  interefling 
to  mankind,  than  I  was  made  fenfible,    that  my 


STRENGTH    OF    CHARACTER.  2$ 

former  fource  of  fatisfact-ion  mull  be  exchanged  for 
fclf-approbation  and  the  ejlcem  of  a  few.  The 
event  gave  me  at  firft  fome  furprife  and  more  con- 
cern ;  for  I  can  truly  fay,  that  in  my  own  breaft, 
I  found  no  obilacle  to  the  point  of  agreeing  to 
dffir.  It  was  even  fome  time  before  I  could  con- 
flrue  the  eftranged  looks  of  thofe,  who  meant  to 
intimate  that  they  had  renounced  private  friend- 
fhip  with  me,  upon  mere  public  grounds.  But 
enough  !  At  prefent,  I  can  fincerely  allure  you, 
that  I  feel  more  compunction  for  early  compli- 
ances, than  regret  for  the  confequences  of  later 
alTertions  of  principle.  And  it  is  my  decided  ad- 
vice to  you,  who  are  beginning  the  world,  not  to 
be  intimidated  from  cpenly  efpcufing  the  caufe 
you  think  a  right  one,  by  the  apprehenfion  of  in- 
curring any  man's  difpleafure.  I  fuppofe  this  to 
be  done  within  the  limits  of  candour,  modeflv,  and 
real  good  temper.  Thefe  being  obferved,  you  can 
have  no  enemies  but  thofe  who  are  not  worthy  to 
be  your  friends. 

Adieu! 


(     24     ) 


LETTER     III. 


ON    ATTACHMENT    TO    THE    ANCIENTS, 


DEAR    SON, 


Y< 


O  U  cannot  but  have  remarked,  that,  even  at 
this  period,  there  are  many  whofe  attachment  to  the 
writers  of  antiquity  is  little  inferior  to  that  of  the 
critics  and  commentators  who  immediately  fucceeded 
the  revival  of  literature.  Wrapt  up  in  profound 
admiration  of  them,  they  fpend  their  whole  time  in 
iludying  their  works,  in  which  they  find  every  fpe- 
cies  of  excellence  in  its  raoft  exquifite  degree  ;  and 
they  look  down  upon  the  belt  performances  of  the 
moderns,  as  only  humble  imitations  of  the  great 
models  which  the  ancients  have  fet  before  them. 
Every  deviation  from  their  principles,  they  confider 
as  a  deviation  from  truth  and  nature  ;  and  prefer  a 
fault  fanclioned  by  their  example,  to  a  beauty  not 
reducible  to  their  ftandard.  How  far  all  this  is  ow- 
ing to  a  jufl  preference,  or  a  narrow  prejudice  ;  and 
if  the  latter,  by  what  modes  of  thinking  it  is  prin- 
cipally foflered,  cannot  be  an  uninterefting  enquiry. 


ATTACHMENT    TO    THE    ANCIENTS. 


raw- 

c 


Many  writers  have  employed  themfelves  in  d 
ing  particular  companions  between  fimilar  works  of 
the  ancients  and  moderns,  and  I  do  not  mean  to  add 
to  the  number.  It  will  rather  be  my  attempt  to 
deduce  from  general  reafoning  fome  principles  by 
which  their  comparative  merit  may  be  determined  a 
friori.  This  may  feem  a  ftrange  mode  of  deciding 
upon  objefts  which  are  capable  cf  being  brought 
to  an  adual  parallel :  but  when  it  is  confidered  how 
few  can  come  to  the  examination  without  prepofTef- 
fions  in  favour  of  individuals,  it  may  be  admitted 
that  this  method  has  its  advantages.  In  fact.,  by  the 
force  of  early  afiociations,  the  beauties  of  our  literary 
favourites  ftrike  us.  as  the  charms  of  a  miiirefs  do  a 
lover.  We  can  lrardiy  judge  of  them  foberly — we 
are  all  enthuiiafm,  or  all  coldnefs.  You  cannot  but 
have  heard,  at  the  recital  of  the  fame  piece,  fome  ex- 
claiming, How  divine  !  and  others,  What  wretched 
ftuff! — yet  both  parties  pafiing  for  men  cf  tafte.  Let 
us  then  feek  a  firmer  foundation  for  our  judgment. 

All  philofophers  agree,  that  man  is  peculiarly 
characterized  as  an  improvable  being,  not  only  with 
refpect.  to  the  individual,  but  to  the  fpecies.  It  is 
true,  many  caufes  may  for  a  long  time  fufpend  the 
courfe  of  improvement,  or  even  occafion  a  retro- 
grade motion  ;  nor  does  the  capacity  for  it  in  the 
fpecies  extend  to  every  attainment  cf  the  individual. 
Many  arts  depend  fo  much  more  upon  exercife  than 
upon  rule,  that  the  excellence  of  a  particular  artiil 
cannot  be  tranfmitted  to  a  fuccefTor  ;  hence  a  later 
C 


26  LETTER       III. 

age  does  not  ftanri  on  the  fnculders  of  an  earlier  one 
with  refpect  to  them.  This  is  very  much  the  cafe 
with  the  arts  of  painting  and  fculpture.  In  thefe, 
after  the  difcovery  of  the  technical  modes  of  work- 
ing, and  the  exigence  of  models  fufficiently  excellent 
to  direct  the  tafte  of  the  learner,  every  advance 
towards  perfection  mull  proceed  from  individual 
talents  and  induilry.  With  a  block  of  marble  and 
a  chifel,  and  a  foul  touched  with  the  fire  of  genius, 
and  habituated  to  the  contemplation  of  fine  forms 
in  art  and  nature,  the  Grecian  fculptor  called  into 
life  his  Apollo  or  Venus,  and  left  to  future  artifts 
only  to  admire  and  imitate. 

Among  the  products  of  literature,  poetry  has 
been  thought  peculiarly  to  refemble  the  arts  above 
mentioned,  in  foon  arriving  at  a  perfection,  to 
which  after-improvements  of  the  human  fpecies 
could  make  no  addition.  Ingenious  differtations- 
have  been  written  to  prove,  that  a  fimple  ilate  of 
man  and  nature,  as  they  exift  i  t  dawning^ 

of  civilization,  is  the  condition  moft  propitious  to 
poetical  attempts ;  and,  in  fact,  many  of  the  fa- 
vourite productions  of  the  mufe  in  various  countries 
date  from  fttch  periods.  This  theory,  Supported  as 
it  is,  by  various  plaufible  arguments,  is,  however, 
in  my  opinion,  rather  elegant  than  folid.  When 
language  and  the  art  of  verification  had  reached  to 
a  certain  pitch  of  refinement,  that  poetiy  which 
confiiled  in  the  description  of  natural  objects,  and 
of  the  fimple  affections  of  the  heart,  might,  indeed, 


ATTACHMENT    TO    THE    ANCIENTS.  2'/ 

at  once  attain  excellence  ;    and  the  attempts  of  a 
more  polifhed  age  to  improve  upon  it,   might  dege- 
nerate into   tinfel  and  conceit.      Still,  however,   as 
nature  herfelf  does   not  alter,   and   as  the   fiir.plefl 
manners  are  always  existing  among  a  certain  clafs 
of  mankind,  a  writer  of  true  taile  may  at  any  time 
excel  in  delineations  of  this  kind.      Inftances  of  this 
are   hkely  to  happen,  when,  after  long  periods  of 
refinement,    the   rdilh   for  nmplicity   comes   round 
again.      This  feems  to  be  the  cafe   among  us  at 
prefent ;    and  he  mull  be  a  very  prejudiced   reader, 
who  can  prefer  the  literary  taile    of  the  ages  cf 
Elizabeth  and  the  Charles's,  to  that  of  the  prefent 
day,  i:i  refpect  to  juilnefs  and  truth.      If  the  p:e- 
tuies  cf  nature  exhibited  by  a  Cowper  and  many 
ether  modern  poets  be  compared  with  thefe  cf  any 
former  age  of  Englifh  poetry,     I  will  venture  to 
aiTert,  that  they  will  be  found  beyond  companfon 
;:;_-   :...l  phafte  and   ex  aft.      It   may  here  be  re- 
marked,   that    a  ample    age    is    never    fenfible    cf 
the  merit  of  its  own  fimpEcity  ;    but,  on  the  con- 
trary,   is  fond  of  laying  on  with  profufion  all  the 
ornament  it  ;poffeffes.       This  is  univerfally  true  cf 
Garages,  with  refpect.  to  the  decoration  of  their  per- 
fons,  and  all  the  little  apparatus  of  their  cabins.     It 
true  cf  the  language  and  rude  corrpcf - 
of   a    people  ilili  barbarous,     or    only  riling 
towards  civilization.     Their  productions,  therefore, 
are  lefs  uniformly  Ample  than  thofe  cf  an  age  which 
can  fully  conceive  the  difference  between  different 

C2 


28  LETTER      III. 

ftyles,   and  jx>ffiefles  judgment  enough   to  exhibit 
each  in  its  purity. 

Bat  with  refpeft  to  the  higher  fpecics  of  poetical 
compofitiens,  there  can  be  no  poiiible  reafon  to 
fuppofe  that  excellence  in  them  will  be  the  growth 
of  an  early  iiage  of  civilization,  or  that  it  will  not 
in  general  keep  pace  with  other  choice  products  of 
the  mind  in  their  progrefs  toward*  perfection. 
Uniformity  of  defign  will  net  exift  before  accuracy 
of  conception, — beauty  of  arrangement  before  a  jult 
fenfe  of  order, — propriety  of  {election,  before  the 
principle  of  congruity,— ftrength  aad  delicacy  of 
lentiment,  before  a  habit  of  abftract  thinking, — 
fplendour  of  diction,  before  the  large  and  varied  ufe 
of  language.  Unlefs,  therefore,  it  were  in  the 
power  of  native  genius  to  overcome  impombilities, 
we  mould  never  expect  to  fee  a  capital  work,  com- 
bining all  the  excellencies  of  plan,  imagery,  and 
fentiment,  and  at  the  fame  time  free  from  grcfo 
defects,  produced  in  an  uncultivated  age,  or  by  an 
illiterate  author. 

But,  however  probable  the  progrerfive  improve- 
ment of  poetry  may  appear  in  theory,  it  will  be 
faid,  that  its  actual  progrefs  has  not  correfponded 
with  this  fuppofition.  For  this,  however,  various 
caufes  may  be  afiigned,  and  efpecially  the  following. 
Some  works  of  extraordinary  merit,  and  peculiarly 
calculated  to  become  popular,  appeared  at  an  early 
period,  and  obtained  fuch  a  high  degree  of  admira- 
tion, that  they  became  models  in  their  refpe&fve 


ATTACHMENT    TO    THE    ANCIENTS.  20. 

kinds,  and  reftricted  all  fubfequent  efforts  of  genius 
to  mere  imitation.  Thus,  from  the  time  of  Homer, 
epic  poetry  became  an  artificial  composition,  whofe 
rules  were  in  reality  drawn  from  the  practice  of  the 
Grecian  bard,  rather  than  from  the  principles  of 
nature.  Lyric  and  dramatic  poetry  were  in  like 
manner  fixed,  though  at  a  later  peiiod,  by  Grecian 
models  ;  fo  that  the  Roman  writers  of  fimilar  per- 
formances could  not  be  faid  to  bring  am 
their  own  to  their  works.  The  fame  (hack 
imitation  have  hung  upon  the  poetry  of  modern  Eu- 
rope ;  whence  a  fair  comparifon  of  the  powers  and 
genius  of  different  periods  is  rendered  fcarcely  prac- 
ticable. The  leading  fpecies  of  poetry,  like  the 
orders  of  architecture,  have  come  down  to  us  fub- 
ject.  to  certain  proportions,  and  requiring  certain, 
ornamental  accompaniments,  which  perhaps  have 
had  no  foundation  whatever  but  the  cafual  practice 
of  the  earlieft  mailers ;  nay,  poiubly,  the  whole  ex- 
igence of  ibme  cf  the  fpeciec  has  had  the  lame 
accidental  origin. 

Meantime,  the  veneration  fcr  the  ancients  has 
been  railed  to  the  higher!  pitch  by  this  perpetual 
reference  to  them  as  models  ;  and  it  has  been  con- 
cluded, that  works  which  have  engaged  the  itudv, 
and  called  forth  the  imitation  of  fo  many  fucceeding 
ages,  mult  poifefs  a  faprcme  degree  of  excellence* 
But  after  all,  their  reputation  may  have  been  much 
more  owing  to  accident  than  is  commonly  fuppofed. 
That  the  Greciaa  poets,  continually  recording  the 
C  3 


5°  LETTER        III. 

deeds  of  their  countrymen,  and  offering  inccnfe  to 
the  national  vanity,  mould  have  been  held  in  high 
efteem  at  home,  was  natural.  That  the  Remans, 
receiving  all  their  literature  from  Greece,  fiiculd 
adopt  its  principles  and  prejudices,  was  alfo  to  be 
expected.  But  that  they  mould  tranfmit  them  to  fo 
large  a  portion  of  tne  civilized  world,  ami  this,  not 
only  during  the  period  of  their  domination,  but  to 
new  races  of  men,  fo  many  centuries  after  the 
downfal  of  their  empire,  muft  be  reckoned  accident, 
as  far  as  any  thing  in  human  affairs  can  be  called 
accidental.  Had  not  the  Chriftian  religion  eftab- 
liihed  a  kind  cf  fecond  Roman  empire,  even  more 
capable  of  fwaying  the  opinions  of  mankind  than  the 
full,  it  is  highly  improbable  that  we  mould  at  this 
day  have  been  commenting  upon  the  clafilcsl  writers 
cf  Greece  and  Rome.  It  is,  indeed,  afconimmg  to 
reflect,  by  what  a  ftrange  concatenation  of  caufe  and 
effect,  the  youth  of  Chriflian  Europe  mould  be  in- 
ilructed  in  the  fables  of  Greek  and  Latin  mythology, 
which  were  fallen  into  contempt  even  before  Rome 
ceafed  to  be  heathen.  It  certainly  has  not  been  on 
account  of  their  wifdom  and  beauty  that  they  have 
furvived  the  wreck  of  fo  many  better  things.  They 
have  been  embalmed  in  the  languages  which  con- 
tained them,  and  wiv'ch,  by  becoming  likewife  the 
depofit cries  of  Ghriftian  docliine,  have  been  ren- 
dered {acred  languages* 

But  it  is  time  to  giv^  you  a  little  refpite. 


(     3i     ) 


LETTER     IV. 


THE     FORMER    SUBJECT     CONTINUED. 

A  ROM  the  tenor  of  my  laft  letter,  you  have, 
doubtlefs,  perceived  the  intended  application  of  my 
argument  a  priori.  And  without  hefitation  I 
avow  that  the  fuppofition  that  any  kind  of  in- 
tellectual product  will  not  partake  of  the  general 
improvement  of  the  mind,  under  fimilar  circum- 
ftances,  appears  to  me  perfectly  unphflofophical. 
While,  then,  it  is  acknowledged  that  modern 
times,  in  extent  and  accuracy  of  knowledge,  have 
far  furpafTed  thofe  periods  which  ought  rather  to 
be  regarded  as  the  Infancy  than  the  antiquity  of  the 
world,  I  cannot  fee  why  the  moralift,  the  meta- 
phyiician,  the  hifiorian,  the  critic,  the  orator, 
and  the  poet,  too,  mould  not  be  benefited  by  the 
progtefs.  Horace  has  faid,  "  that  the  (burce  of 
good  writing  is  good  fenie  ;"  and  what  is  this,  but 
the  refult  of  reafon  operating  upon  experience  ? 
It  may,  indeed,  be  urged,  that  there  are  certain- 
topics,  upon  which,  after  men  in  a  ftate  of  civili- 
sation have  once  begun  to  think,  little  additional 
knowledge  can  be   gained  by  experimental  cr  fci- 


32  L   E   T   T    E    R        IV. 

entlfic  procefTes  ;  and  the  philofcphy  of  the  human 
mind  may  be  given  as  an  inftance.  Every  man 
bearing  about  him,  and  viewing  round  him,  the 
fubject  of  this  kind  of  invefligation,  no  length  of 
time  or  foreign  aid  feems  wanting  to  enable  him 
to  carry  it  as  far  as  his  faculties  will  permit.  And 
it  is  probably  true,  that  fcarcely  any  points  of 
moral  and  metaphyseal  fpeculation  efeaped  the 
acute  refearch  of  the  numerous  Grecian  fchools 
which  devoted  their  whole  attention  to  ftucies  of 
this  kind  ;  nor  at  the  prefent  day  do  many  of  thefe 
points  feem  nearer  being  fettled  than  they  were 
two  thoufand  years  ago.  Yet,  n  the  ancients 
treated  them  with  as  much  fubtility  and  ingenuity 
as  the  moderns,  the  latter  will,  I  believe,  be  ge- 
nerally allowed  to  have  excelled  in  clearnefs  of 
arrangement ,  and  folidity  of  argumentation  ;  fo 
that  where  certainty  is  not  now  attained,  there  is 
preat  reafon  to  fuppofe  it  unattainable.  And  I 
can  fcarcely  conceive,  that  many  perfons,  after 
mailing  themfelves  mailers  of  the  modern  theories 
refpeclmg  the  mind,  will  think  it  worth  while  to 
retrace  the  labyrinth  of  anclc?u  vd^hv/ic. 

The  limitation  I  made  of  the  fuperiority  of 
modern  writers  to  cafes  in  which  the  circunificr.ccs 
were  Jlmlldr^  would  probably  be  made  much  ufe 
of  by  a  zealot  for  antiquity,  who  would  attempt 
to  fhew,  that  the  language,  manners,  and  institu- 
tion* cf  the  ancients  gave  them,  in  a  variety  of 
inflances,    peculiar   advantages  ever   the   mcd.rns. 


ATTACHMENT    TO    THE    ANCIENTS.  $$ 

As  to  language,  however,  let  the  intrinfic  pro- 
eminence  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  be  placed  ever  fo 
high,  Hill,  with  refpect  to  us,  they  are  dead  lan- 
guages, in  which  we  could  not  read  a  fentence  (o 
as  to  be  underftood,  or  write  a  fhort  compofition 
fo  as  not  to  be  ridiculed,  by  an  old  Greek  or 
Roman.  I  am  far  from  charging  with  affectation 
thofe  who  fall  into  raptures  with  the  verfificatioH 
cf  Virgil  and  Horace,  or  the  numerous  profe  cf 
Plato  and  Cicero.  I  am  pervaded  that  by  long 
attention  they  have  brought  themfelves  to  a  per- 
ception of  fomewbat  excellent,  though  it  be  a 
different  thing  from  the  real  excellence.  But  can 
it  be  doubted,  that  the  fame  attention  paid  to  one's 
own,  or  another  living  language,  the  true  pronun- 
ciation and  all  the  delicacies  of  which  may  with 
certainty  be  known,  will  afford  at  leaft  as  folid  and 
rational  a  pleafure  ?  Language  and  modes  of 
thinking  have  a  clofe  connexion  with  each  ether  ; 
and  where  the  latter  become  more  accurate  and 
methodical,  the  former  muft  neceiTarily  improve  in 
force  and  precifion.  New  ideas  muft  likewife 
require  new  words  ;  as  knowledge,  therefore,  ad- 
vances, languages  muft  become  richer,  and  that, 
not  only  in  direct  terms,  but  in  figurative  and  al- 
lullve  expreffions.  The  former  is  an  advantage  in 
accuracy,  the  latter  in  eloquence  :  and  it  would  be 
a  vain  attempt  to  transfufe  into  claffical  Greek  and 
Latin,  the  clofe  argumentation  of  a  Hume,  and  the 
excurfive  rhetoric  of  a  Burke. 


34  L   E   T   T   E   R        IV. 

"With  regard  to  the  changes  which  manners 
and  inilitutions  have  undergone,  though  this  may, 
in  fome  few  inftances  have  rendered  modern  times 
lefs  favourable,  fehau  the  ancient  to  certain  ftudies, 
as  particularly  thofe  to  which  great  emulation  was 
formerly  attached  by  means  of  public  rewards  and 
applaufes,  yet  this  came  cannot  have  operated  to 
any  considerable  extent  upon  literature  in  general. 
There  can  never  want  motives  to  excel  in  what 
is  truly  valuable  ;  and  though  the  fpecies  of  en- 
couragement may  vary,  the  effect  will  be  fimilar. 
If  oratory  among  the  ancients  had  more  fcope  at 
the  bar,  wi;.h  u:  it  has  more  m  the  icnate  ;  aaad 
that  of  the  pulpit  is  an  entirely  new  creation.  If 
the  plaudits  of  afTembled  Greece  were  animating 
in  a  high  degree  to  dramatic  attempts,  thofe  of  a 
modern  theatre,  enforced  by  the  folid  benefits  of  a 
third  night,  are  fcarcely  lefs  fo  : — though  I  do  not 
mean  to  inilance  the  theatre  as  one  of  the  bell 
fchools  of  tafle  ;  but  neither  was  it  in  the  age  of 
Auguftus.  Horace,  you  know,  complains  that, 
even  among  the  knights,  pleafure  had  migrated 
from  the  ears  to  the  eyes  ;  and  the  Roman  ft  age 
might  at  leaft  vie  with  thofe  of  the  Kaymarket 
and  Covent  Garden,  in  prccefiions  and  triumphs. 
Nay,  I  cannot  but  fufpect,  that  in  the  rooft  brilliant 
times  of  Greece,  the  choruffes  and  the  whole  jeu  dc 
theatre  were  more  addreiTed  to  the  love  of  extraor- 
dinary fpe&acles  in  a  wondering  populace,  than  to 
the  judgment  of  fober  critics. 


ATTACHMENT    TO    THE    ANCIENTS.  35 

But  I  (hall  not  farther  purfue  comparifons  be- 
tween particular  kinds  of  literary  productions,  at 
different  periods.  My  purpofe  was  rather  to  fug- 
ged general  principles  of  judging,  which  might 
ferve  as  a  counterpoife  to  the  prepoileffions  ufually 
entertained  on  thefe  fubje&s.  In  conformity  with 
this  defign,  I  mall  conclude  my  letter  with  fome 
remarks  on  the  caufes  which  have  foflered  an  un- 
reafonablc  attachment  to  the  writers  of  antiquity. 

Education  has  been  the  primary  fource  of  thefe 
prejudices.  For  many  centuries,  all  the  literary 
characters  in  Europe  hafre  been  fed  and  nurtured 
with  the  dailies,  and  have  employed  the  bed  years 
of  their  lives  in  attempting  to  undeiTtand  and 
imitate  them.  AfTociations  thus  cemented,  are 
fcarcely  ever  to  be  dilTolvcd.  Every  fentiment  of 
the  foul  is  mterefted  in  preferring  them,  and  the 
praffion*  rife  up  to  defend  the  decrees  of  the  judg- 
ment. Even  the  practical  fciences,  which  ought 
to  receive  ieffons  from  every  day's  experience,  have 
for  ages  been  chained  to  the  fchoois  cf  thefe  early 
raafters.  In  my  own  profeffioh,  how  many  writers 
cf  real  talents  do  I  find,  who  hefitate  to  admit  a 
cotemporary  truth  when  eppofite  to  the  authority 
of  Hippocrates  and  Galen.  At  prefent,  indeed, 
this  fervitude  is  pretty  well  over  in  our  country  ; 
but  learned  foreigners  ftiil  take  a  great  deal  of 
unnecefTary  and  fruitlefs  pains  to  reconcile  the 
maxims  of  modern  experience  with  the  premature 
dictates  of  the  fathers  of  phyfic.      Pride  concurs 


$6  L   E   T   T    E    R        IV. 

with  prejudice  in  maintaining  the  value  of  what 
we  have  diilinguifhed  ourfelves  in  acquiring  ;  and 
the  credit  of  thofe  acquisitions  by  which  literary- 
honours  are  obtained,  muft  be  fupported  for  the 
fake  of  the  honours  themfelves. 

This  general  imprefiion  in  favour  of  ancient  li- 
terature, is  iu;  jecl  co  particular  caufes  of  fallacious 
judgment.  One  of  thefe  is,  the  common  practice 
of  confounding  the  merit  of  the  writer  with  that 
of  his  work ;  as  if  fuperior  abilities  mould  always 
produce  fuperior  performances.  But  though  the 
inventor  Hands  higher  in  the  fcale  of  genius  than 
the  improver,  yet  the  workmanjttiip  of  the  latter 
will  in  many  refpects  be  mere  perfect  than  that  of 
the  former.  This  is  fufficiently  obvious  in  pieces 
of  mechanifm,  and  other  works  of  mere  utility  ; 
where  it  would  -^e  thought  a  ftrange  prejudice  to 
prefer  the  original  draught  of  the  moll:  ingenious 
artift,  to  the  improved  copy  of  his  journeyman. 
And  why  mould  not  the  fame  obfervation  apply  to 
the  mechanical  parts,  at  leaft,  fuch  as  the  plan  and 
difpofition,  of  a  literary  deiign  ?  Although  the 
article  of  clafiical  faith,  that  "  Homer  was  the 
greatefl  poet  who  ever  exiiled,"  be  admitted  in  its 
full  extent,  the  general  Superiority  of  the  Iliad  to 
the  iSneid  or  Paradife  Loll,  will  not  follow  as  a 
legitimate  confequence. 

Another  deception  is,  confounding  the  merit  of  a 
performance  with  its  cafual  value.  Every  thing 
which  conveys  information  of  the  manners  and  fen- 


ATTACHMENT     TO     THE    AKCIENTS.  37 

timents  of  a  remote  age,  13  a  fit  fubject  for  liberal 
curiofity  ;  and  thofe  remains  of  antiquity  which 
abound  in  fuch  information  deferve  the  attentive 
ftudy  of  the  philofopher  as  well  as  the  ph'loleger. 
But  this  value,  in  many  cafes,  ariiVs  more  from  the 
faults  than  the  excellencies  of  a  writer,  whofe  mi- 
nute details  of  common  occurrences,  or  references 
to  idle  and  extravagant  fables,  may  deform  his  work 
as  a  production  of  genius,  while  they  afford  high 
gratification  to  the  curious  antiquary.  Had  Homer 
compofed  another  Iliad  infiead  of  an  Odyffey,  he 
would  probably  have  exhibited  much  more  fablimity 
of  conception,  and  grandeur  of  defcription,  of  both 
which  the  OdyiTey  contains  very  faint  traces  :  but 
we  mould  have  loil  a  copious  ftore  of  information 
concerning  the  arts  and  domeftic  manners  of  that 
early  period,  which  no  other  work  could  fupply. 
The  circumftance  of  language  comes  under  this  head 
of  extrinfic  value.  To  trace  the  progrefs  of  men's 
ideas,  by  means  of  the  expreilions  in  which  they 
clothed  them — to  view  terms  derived  from  fenfible 
objects  gradually  transferred  to  intellectual  norions, 
and  iimple  energies  receiving  their  fucceflive  modifica- 
tions— is  highly  interefting  to  the  philofophic  mind. 
Hence  men  of  speculation  have  always  been  defirous 
of  knowing  a  multiplicity  of  languages  ;  and  they 
have  read  with  eagernefs  very  inferior  competitions, 
if  transmitted  in  the  tongue  of  a  remote  age. 

further  :    a  foreign,   and  ftill  moi-e,  a  dead  lan- 
guage, never  gives  us  its  matter  with  exactly  the 
D 


38  LETTER        IV. 

fame  impreffions  as  we  mould  receive  from  it  in  our 
own.     Many  beauties  are  loft,  but,  in  return,  many- 
imperfections  are  concealed.      And,   in  particular, 
the  air  of  tritenefs  and  vulgarity  which  ever  attends 
performances  of  inferior  rank  in  our  native  language, 
is    thrown  off    by  allying  the  matter  with  words 
which  can  never  be   quite  familiar  to  us.      Many 
a  moral  fentiment  which  would  make  an  ordinary 
figure  in  Englifh,  ftrikes  us  with  the  force  of  a  deep 
maxim   in   Latin   or    Greek,    and    dwells    on    our 
memory.     This,   indeed,   is  a  real  advantage  arifing 
from  the  ftudy  of  thofe  languages  ;  but  it  is  not  to 
be  placed  to  the  account  of  peculiar  excellence  in 
their  writers. 

To   what  purpofe   have   I    addreffed   to  you  all 
thefe  observations  ?     Moft  certainly  not  to  perfuade 
you    to    lay   ande    your   favourite    daffies,    which, 
befides   the  foKd  pleafure  and  inftruction  they  are 
capable  of  afrording  you,    are,    in  fome    meafure, 
profeiTional    objects    of    your    ftudies.       Indulge    a 
liberal  admiration  of  their  excellencies.       Imprint 
their    beauties    upon   your   imagination,    and   their 
morals  upon  your  heart.      But  do  not  be  feduced  to. 
regard  as  models  of  perfection,  what  were  only  the 
experiments    of  early    art — do  not  think  that  the 
powers  of  men  have  declined,    while  their  advan- 
tages have  increafed — and,  above  all,   do  not  decide 
by  ancient  authority,  what  can  be  brought  to  the. 
fair  teft  cf  modern  reafon. 

Farewel ! 


(  39  ) 


LETTER  V. 


ON  THE  PURSUIT  OF  IMPROVEMENT. 


Y< 


OU  have  frequently,  I  quelHon  not,  been  dif- 
gufted  with  the  common  cant  employed  againft  all 

projects  for  improvement,  "  that  perfection  is  a 
thing  not  attainable  here  below — that  ever/  thing 
human  mull:  partake  of  the  defe&s  cf  human  na- 
ture— that  it  is  a  folly  to  aim  at  impofhbilities" — 
and  the  like.  This  language,  which  might  with 
equal  truth  have  been  held  at  every  ftage  of  human 
advancement,  is  therefore  equally  trivial  in  all  ;  and 
he  who  admits  that  it  would  have  been  an  injury  to 
mankind  if  ten  centuries  ago  it  had  operated  to 
difcourage  attempts  for  improvement,  can  give  no 
fuf&cient  reafon  why  it  would  not  be  fo  at  the 
prefent  day. 

If  you  confider  the  perfons  from  whom  this  (train 
of  declamation  proceeds,  you  will  infallibly  find  it 
to  have  its  origin  in  ignorance,  weak.iefs,  or  fel£fn- 
nefs.  Often  in  ignorance,  the  declaimer  being  nei- 
ther fofficfefltly  informed  of  the  prefent  ftate  of  the 
arc  or  fcience  to  which  he  refers,  nor  dijfcernmg 
the  means  for  its  further  advancement.  Often  in 
D  2 


40  L   E   T   T   E   R       V. 

nveaknefs — want  of  energy  of  temper  and  force  of 
underftanding  to  fupport  a  vigorous  exertion.      Oft- 
ener  than    all  in  felfijhnefs,    when  perfonal    advan- 
tages are  derived  from  prefent  defects,  which  would 
be   endangered  by    any   attempts  to   amend  them. 
Every  generous   and   elevated   fpirit   will  inculcate 
maxims  directly  the  reverfe  ; — that  perfection  is  the 
point  conftantly  to  be  aimed  at,  whether  attainable 
cr  not  ;    and  that  no  purfuit  beneficial  to  mankind 
has  hitherto  been  brought  to  a  ilate  in  which  it  is 
incapable  of  further  progrefs.      This  is  admitted  to 
be  the  cafe  with  refpect  to  perfonal  advances  in  re- 
ligion and  virtue,  even  by  thofe  who  are  the  lead 
inclined   to    improvement  in  general — for   it   is  af- 
ierted  by  authority,  which  they  dare  not  contradict 
It  is  likewife  readily  acknowledged,  with  refpect  to 
mofl  of  thofe  arts  and  fciences,  the  free  progrefs  of 
which  docs  not  oppofe  the  intereft  of  individuals. 
And  it  feems  impoffible  to  affign  a  reafon  why  the 
fame   maxims  mould  not  apply  to  every  fubject   in 
which   the  human  faculties  are   engaged,   provided 
it  does  not  relate  to  things  manifestly  beyond  their 
reach.      If  perfection  be   any  where    attainable,   it 
would   feem  to   be   peculiarly  in   thofe    inflftutipRS 
which  are  the   creatures  of  man — in  which  he   has 
a   fpecific  end  and  purpofe   in   view,   involving   no 
wills  or  powers  but  his  own — which  are  purely  mat- 
ters of  convention  between  man  and  man,  that  may 
be  made  whatever  he  choofes  to  make  them.      Such 
are  all  the  regulations  belonging  to  civil  fociety.     In 


PURSUIT    OF    IMPROVEMENT.  4. 1 

thefe  concerns,  if  the  end  be  firft  precifely  bo  1 
down,  and  if  experience  be  faithfully  confulted  as 
to  the  fuccefs  of  different  means >  it  is  fcarcely  pof- 
fible  that  continual  progrefs  mould  not  be  made,  as 
the  world  advances  in  reafon  and  knowledge,  to- 
wards a  perfect  coincidence  of  means  and  end. 

You  may  probably  have  met  with  the  affertion, 
that,  "  in  the  fcience  of  politics,  all  principles  that 
are  fpeculatively  right,  are  practically  wrong." 
This  feiitence  was  the  fally  of  a  witty  writer,  wlw 
is  much  more  diftinguifhed  for  faying  lively  things 
than  foKd  ones.  Like  other  paradoxes,  it  will  not 
bear  examination*  It  carries  a  palpable  contra- 
diction on  its  very  face  ;  for  in  a  practical  fcience, 
the  proof  of  the  rectitude  of  its  fpeculative  princi- 
ples is  only  to  be  found  in  their  agreement  with 
practice.  What  fhould  we  fay  of  a  fyitem  of  per- 
fpective,  the  rules  of  which  gave  every  figure  falfe 
and  diflorted  ;  or  a  fyitem  of  menfuration,  by  which 
no  one  meafure  turned  out  right  ?  The  reafon  af- 
iigned  by  the  writer  for  the  oppofition  between 
principles  and  practice  in  the  initance  he  adduces, 
is,  that  the  principles  are  founded  upo  1  the  fuppo- 
fition  that  man  a6ts  reafonably — which  he  does  not. 
This  remark  is  evidently  an  ebullition  of  fplenetic 
fatire  ;  but  were  it  juitv  the  legitimate  conclufion 
would  be,  that  the  principles  were  erroneous  ;  far 
if  man  be  really  not  a  reafonable  creature,  th:y 
erred  in  representing  ham  as  fufck  To  whatever 
gLafs  be  belongs  it  will  not  be  denied  that  he  is 
D  3 


42  L    E    T    t    E   R.       V . 

actuated  by  motives;  and  thefe  motives  it  is  the 
great  bufmefs  cf  thofe  who  plan  fyflems  of  law  and 
government  to  cifcover.  Such  fyflems  alone  can 
be  fpeculatively  as  well  as  practically  right  ;  and  in 
them  the  theory  can  be  no  more  at  variance  with 
the  practice,  than  caufe  with  efFeft.  The  writer's 
affertion,  therefore,  is  a  mere  fophifm,  which  I 
mould  not  have  thought  worthy  cf  refutation,  had 
I  not  obferved  it  triumphantly  repeated,  as  the  ma- 
ture conclufion  of  a  fage  in  worldly  affairs,  by  per- 
fons  who  concur  with  him  in  a  diflike  to  appeals  to 
frjl  principles  in  this  and  fome  other  matters.  The 
truth  is,  they  believe  man  to  be  poffelfed  of  more 
reafon  than  they  are  willing  to  allow,  and  it  is  his 
reafon  lhat  they  are  afraid  of. 

To  refolve  things  into  their  firfl  principles  is 
philofophy,  the  nobleft  employment  of  the  mind* 
and  that  which  alone  confers  a  title  to  real  wifdom. 
Without  a  portion  of  it,  the  experience  cf  a  long 
life  may  only  ferve  to  accumulate  a  confufed  mafs 
cf  opinion,  partly  true,  partly  falfe,  and  leading  to 
no  ene  certain  conclufion.  The  want  of  a  philofc- 
phic  mind  makes  many  men  cf  bufmefs  mere  plod- 
ders, and  many  men  cf  reading  and  even  cf  obferva- 
tion,  mere  retailers  cf  vague  unconnected  notions. 
Order,  precifien,  concatenation,  aiiafyfis,  are  all  the 
refults  of  pmlcfcphy.  Yet  even  this  word,  as  you 
mult,  have  remarked,  as  well  as  thofe  of  improve- 
ment and  reformation,  has  been  the  fubject  cf 
obloquy.     It  has  been  branded  with  the  epiJiet  cf 


PURSUIT    OF    IMPROVEMENT. 


43 


impious  by  the  bigot,  of  arrogant  by  the  cautious, 
and  of  viiionary  by  the  dull.      It  has  drawn  down 
the  anathemas  of  the  ferious,    and  the   ridicule  of 
the  light.     Above  all,  it  has  been  treated  with  that 
ironical  fneer,    which  is   fo    common  a  refource  to 
thofe  who  are .  confcious  of  being  deficient  in  argu- 
ment.     "  Thank  heaven  !    I  am  no  philofopher  ;    I 
pretend  not  to  be  wifer  than  thofe  who  have  gone 
before  me.      I  do  not  boaft  of  the  difcovery  of  new 
principles.       I    muft    beg  leave  to   retain    my   anti- 
quated   notions,    notwithstanding   philofophers  call 
them  prejudices  "     Thefe  flowers  of  polemical  rhe- 
toric,   which  decorate  (o  many  fermons,  fpeeches, 
and  effays,    though  they  have  loft  the  attraction  of 
novelty,    are  yet  of  no  fmall  efficacy  in  fwaying  tri- 
vial minds  ;     and  the  argumenium  ad  vcrecundiam  to 
which  they  appeal,  is  apt  to  overpower  unaiTumin  v 
modefty.      Such  a  ftrain  of  frothy  infolence  is  belt 
difconceited  by  admitting  it   ferioufly  as  an  honeft 
confeffion  of  inferiority.      I  would  fay — "   I    Inow 
you  are  not  a  philofopher — I    never   took  you   for 
one — your   education  and   habits  of  life    have  dif- 
qualified  you  from  all  pretenfions  to  the  character 
— your   opinions  are  mere   prejudices,   and  do   not 
merit  a  refutation." 

But  if  there  be  thofe  who  Bona  jlde  are  afraid  cf 
philofophy,  becaufe  very  mifchievous  doctrines  have 
been  propagated  under  its  name,  let  them  be  told, 
that  what  they  dread  is  only  the  ufe  of  reafon  in  a 
large   way,    and    upon   the    moll    important    fub^ 


44  LETTER       7. 

jeds  ;*  and  that  if,  on  the  whole,  we  are  better  for 
the  gift  of  reafon,  though  fame  abufe  it,  we  are  like- 
wife  better  for  afpiring  to  be  philosophers,  though 
fome  falfely  and  for  bad  purpofes  arrogate  the  title. 
A  very  common  topic  of  railing  againit  philofophy, 
is  the  extravagant  and  contradictory  opinions  held 
by   the  ancient  fchools  of  philofophers.      But  with 
whom  ought  they  to  be  compared  ?    Not  with  thcfe 
who  have  been  enlightened  by  direct  revelation,  but 
with  the  vulgar  and  bigots  of  their  own  times,  who 
implicitly   received  all  the  abfurdities  which  fraud 
and   fuperftition   had  foiiled   into   their  fyflems  of 
faith.      If,    by  the  efforts   of  unaided   philofophy, 
out  of  a   people  thus   debafed,  could  be   raifed  a 
Socrates,    an    Epiclietus,  an   Antoninus,  what   ho- 
nours fhort  of  divine,  are  not  due  to  it  ?     Nor  have 
its  fervices  to  mankind  in  later  ages  been .  much  kfs 
confpicuous  ;  for  not  to  infill  on  the  great  advance- 
ments in   art  and   fcien^e  which    hsve     originated 
from  natural  philofophy    (fince  they  are   quedioned 
by  none),   what   man   cf  enlarged  ideas  will  deny, 
that  the  philofophy   cf  the  human   mind,  of  lew,  of 
commerce,   of  government,   of  mora!*,   JBid,  I  will  add, 
of  religion,  have   greatly  contributed  to  any  fupc- 
riority  this  age  may  claim  ever  former  periods  ?     If 
philofophy  thus    employed    hath    occafioned    feme 
'  evils,  a  more  corre£fc  and  diligent  ufe  of  the  fame 

-X-  Hiijns  opus  unum  eft,  de  divklis  hiimarf.fque 
terum  invenire.  S::?tzc. 


PURSUIT    OF    IMPROVEMENT.  4£ 

will  remove  them.  If  erroneous  conclufions  have 
been  drawn  from  a  premature  or  partial  induction 
of  facts,  they  will  be  rectified  by  a  future  more  ex- 
tensive induction.  After  all,  no  medium  can  pof- 
fibly  be  affigned  between  reafoning  freely,  and  not 
reafoning  at  all — between  fubmitting  implicitly  to 
any  human  authority,  and  to  none. 

We  are  placed  in  this  world  with  a  variety  of 
faculties,  and  of  objects  on  which  to  exercife  them. 
Doubtlefs,  there  are  in  nature  limits  which  we 
cannot  pafs  ;  but  what  man  fhall  prefume  to  mark 
them  out  for  other  men  ? — what  man  fhall  fay  to 
his  fellow-men,  I  permit  you  to  exercife  your  reafcn 
upon  thefe  objects,  but  I  forbid  you  from  exercifing 
it  on  thofe  ?  Many,  indeed,  have  fo  prefumed  ; 
but  the  friends  of  truth  and  mankind  have  ever  re- 
filled their  ufurped  authority. 

For  you,  my  dear  Son,  I  do  not  apprehend  that 
you  will  be  backward  in  afferting  the  nobleft  pre- 
rogative of  man.  Of  all  improvements,  that  of 
your  own  mind  is  of  the  moft  confequence  to  you. 
It  is  likewife  that  the  moil  in  your  power,  and  in 
the  purfuit  of  which  you  will  be  leafl  liable  to 
thwart  the  interefls  and  prejudices  of  others.  Re- 
member, however,  that  the  fureil  mark  of  progrefs 
is  a  full  perception  of  the  difproportion  between 
acquisitions  already  made,  and  thofe  which  remain 
to  be  made. 

Adieu ! 


(     46     ) 


LETTER     VI. 


OM  the  love  of  applause,    exemplified  in  the 

YOUNGER   PLINY. 


DEAR    SON, 


I 


T  has  for  fome  years  been  my  cuflom,  after  the 
perufal  of  an  author,  to  note  down  the  general  im- 
preffions  it  left  on  my  mind  ;  and  this  practice, 
rrhich  I  began  as  uieful  to  myfelf,  I  have  followed 
with  more  attention,  fmce  I  reflected  that  it  might 
be  rendered  of  fome  utility  to  my  children.  It  may 
therefore  not  unfrequently  happen,  that  fuch  re- 
marks aiford  the  fubject.  of  a  letter  ;  and  at  prefent 
I  mean  to  communicate  to  you  my  rejections  on 
the  elegant  and  inftructive  Epiflies  of  Pliny. 

Dr.  Johnfon's  obfervations  concerning  the  fallacy 
of  the  common  notion,  that  a  man  lays  open  his 
mind  without  difguife  in  his  familiar  correfpond- 
ence,  would  be  ftrikingly  confirmed  by  thefe  let- 
ters, provided  they  could  properly  be  termed  fami- 
liar. But  though  many  of  them  are  addrefTed  to 
the  moil  intimate  friends  he  had  in  the  world,  and 
relate  to  perfonal  topics,  yet  as  we  know  that  they 


LOVE    OF    APPLAUSE.  4.7 

were  publifhed  by  the  writer  himfelf,  after  they  had 
undergone  his  revifion  and  correction,   we  may  be 
pflured  that  their  purpofe  was  not   the  fimple  effu- 
fion  of  his  mind.      In  fact,  the  evident  defign   of 
almoft   every  letter  in  the  collection  is,  as  we  com- 
monly exprefs  it,    to  fet  himfelf  off  ;  for  they  turn 
upon  fome  act  of  munificence  which  he    had  per- 
formed,  fome  inftance  of  his  literary  and  oratori- 
cal reputation,  his  attachment  to  ftudy,  his  philo- 
fophical   temper  of   mind,    his    love    of  virtue,    in 
fhort,  upon  fomething   that  may  heighten  his  cha- 
racter in  the  idea  of  his  correfpondent.      His  lead- 
ing foible,  indeed,  the  thirft  of  applaufe,  they  very 
amply  exhibit;   for  he  neither  wilhed  to  conceal  it, 
nor  could  he  do   it  confidently  with  his  purpofe  of 
obtaining  applaufe     But  we  mall  in  vain  look  for 
any  touches  cf  nature  which  may  make  us  acquaint- 
ed in  other  refpecls  with  the  man.     All  is  fo  var- 
nifhed   over  with  fplendid  fentiments,  and  elec-an- 
cies    of   thought  and  expreffion,   that  no    peculiar 
features  are  difcernible.     The  fubject  of  every  letter 
is  a  theme,  on   which   the  fmefl   things  are  to   be 
faid ;    and  we  are   continually  tempted  to  believe, 
that  the  benevolent  or  generous  a£tion  he   relates, 
was  done  for  the  exprefs  purpofe  of  difplaying  it  to 
a  friend  in  its  faireil  colouring. 

Yet  fmce,  from  the  concurring  teftimony  of  wri- 
ters, we  know  that  Plir.y  was  in  reality  a  mofc  ex- 
emplary character  both  in  public  and  private  life, 
another  inference  to"  be  drawn  is,  that  the  love  of 


48  L    E   T   T    E    R.        VI. 

admiration,  how  much  foever  it  may  deferve  the 
name  of  a  tvealne/i,  is  not  on  the  whole  unfavour- 
able to  virtue.  The  defire  of  praife  is  a  motive  to 
do  that  which  we  think  may  deferve  praife.  This 
may  occafionally,  to  perfons  of  a  corrupted  tafte, 
lead  to  endeavours  at  excelling  in  trivial  and  ufelefs 
performances  :  but  it  can  fcarcely  ever  lead  to 
actions  manifeftly  bafe  and  flagitious.  And  on 
thofe  who  have  formed  a  jufl  fenfe  of  what  is  praife  - 
worthy,  its  operation  will  be  beneficial,  by  engaging 
feif-love  as  an  auxiliary  to  virtuous  principles. 

The  age  of  Pliny  abounded  in  characters  of  the 
pureil  virtue.  It  would  feem  as  if  the  mocking  and 
deteftable  forms  in  which  vice  had  exhibited  herfelf 
under  the  worft  of  the  Roman  emperors,  had 
awakened  in  mankind  a  double  admiration  of  her 
oppofite.  At  the  fame  time,  the  refined  civility  of 
the  age  had  foftened  the  rigid  morality  of  the  old 
Romans  into  a  fyilem  in  which  the  humane  vir- 
tues had  their  proper  place.  Trained  in  the  belt 
principles,  and  early  imbued  with  veneration  for 
the  nobleft  characters,  Pliny  courted  the  public 
eileem  by  an  imitation  of  exalted  worth  ;  and  if 
his  virtue  was  not  of  the  complexion  of  that  which 
can  content  itfelf  with  its  own  confeioufnefs,  yet 
it  was  fufficiently  founded  in  habit  and  conviction, 
to  induce  him  to  be  what  he  wifhed  to  appear.  In 
every  age  and  country,  the  public  will  have  reafon 
to  be  amply  fatisfied,  if  its  men  cf  rank  and  high, 
clnee  (hall  be  Plinia. 


LOVE    OF    APPLAUSE. 


49 


The  vanity  of  this  writer  appears  Ieaft  refpe£t- 
able  when  it  turns  upon  literary  fubjects.  It  wa3 
his  ardent  defire  to  be  thought,  not  only  an  excel- 
lent pleader  and  rhetorician,  but  a  proficient  in 
every  kind  of  compofition,  profe  and  verfe,  light  cr 
ferious.  That  his  fondnefs  for  difplaying  himfelf, 
rendered  him  extremely  prolix,  may  be  judged,  not 
only  from  his  boaftful  relations  of  pleadings  of  five 
or  fix  hours  at  a  time,  and  his  frequent  commenda- 
tions of  good  hearers,  but  from  his  laboured  and 
diffufe  panegyric  on  Trajan.  I  doubt  not  that  the 
patient  and  even  applaufive  attention  to  his  long 
declamations  and  recitation?,  of  which  he  fo  often 
informs  his  friends,  proceeded  rather  from  a  refpect 
to  his  character,  and  a  wifn  to  pleafe  him,  than 
from  the  real  fatisfaetion  of  his  auditors.  From 
various  paffages  in  his'  letters  we  may  difcover  that 
application  was  made  to  this  foible  by  perfons  who 
were  defirous  of  ingratiating  themfelves  in  his  fa- 
vour. This  is  the  danger  of  an  exceiTive  love  of 
applaufe  ; — not  that  it  mould  vitiate  the  heart,  but 
that  it  mould  corrupt  the  judgment,  and  lay  a  man 
open  to  the  ridicule  of  the  malignant,  and  the  ar- 
tifices of  the  defigning. 

Farewel ! 


E 


(     So  ) 


LETTER     VII, 


ON     THE     STORY    OF    CIRCE* 


DEAR    SON, 

J[  HERE  was  a  period  of  criticifm  in  which  the 
works  of  Homer  were  fuppofed  to  contain  an  en- 
cyclopedia of  human  knowledge  ;  and  every  thing 
of  art,  fcience,  and  wifdom,  which  after-ages  had 
developed,  were  afferted  to  lie  in  their  feeds  within 
the  compafs  of  his  hiilory  and  fable.  Under  this 
impreffion,  commentators  were  naturally  led  to 
f  ;arch  for  recondite  meanings  in  every  fcene  of  in- 
vention, by  which  he  diverfmed  his  poems  ;  and 
particularly  they  fought  to  improve  the  barrennefs 
of  his  morality,  by  allegorifing  his  fic~r.ions.  The 
double  nature  of  the  heathen  deities  ferved  their 
purpofe  very  happily  in  many  of  thefe  attempts  ; 
and  there  was  little  difficulty  in  perfuading  the 
reader  that  Pallas  was  wifdom  perfonified  in  infpir- 
ing  an  action  of  policy,  though  a  few  lines  before 
me  had  prompted  deeds  of  valour  as  the  martial 
goddefs.     Sounder  criticifm  has  brought  back  many 


STORY    OF    CIRCE.  51 

Of  thefe  fancied  allegories  to  Ample  narratives. 
Reafoning  upon  the  character  of  the  age  in  which 
Homer  lived,  and  the  general  ftrain  of  his  writings, 
it  has  refufed  to  admit  ideas  and  defigns  manifeftly 
originating  in  a  very  different  Mate  of  mtc!le£tual 
progrefs. 

You  may  recollect  our  reading  together  the  epif- 
tle  of  Horace  to  his  friend  Lollius,  and  admiring 
the  eafy  good  fenfe  with  which  he  deduces  leffona 
of  moral  wifdom  from  the  writings  of  Homer. 
Thefe  are,  in  general,  fuch  as  any  real  hiftory  filled 
with  a  variety  of  events  and  characters  might  fug- 
ged ;  but  from  the  adventures  of  Ulyffes  he  felects 
two  as  eonfeffedly  allegorical, 

Srrenum  voces  et  C\:cx  poculi  nofli ; 

and  the  fame  opinion  of  them  has,  I  believe,  been 
entertained  by  all  fucceeding  commentators  to  the 
prefent  day.  Of  the  Sirens'  fong,  I  do  not,  at  this 
time  mean  to  take  notice  ;  but  I  (hall  offer  to  your 
ccnfideration  fome  remarks  on  the  fiery  of  Circe. 

The  leading  circumftances  in  this  narration,  of 
an  enchantrefs  turning  men  into  beafls  by  a  charmed 
cup,  and  of  a  wife  man  by  virtue  of  a  counter- 
charm  refilling  the  force  of  her  fpelis,  afford  fo 
plaufible  a  foundation  for  a  moral  allegory  on  the 
debafmg  effects  of  fenfuality,  and  the  prefervative 
power  of  wifdom,  that,  we  need  not  be  furprifed  at 
its  having  been  univerfally  received  as  fuch.  Ac- 
cordingly, the  Circean  cup  has  become  a  phrafe  in 
E  2 


52  LETTER       VII. 

every  cultivated  language  ;  and  the  moft  celebrated 
poets  of  different  countries  have  imitated  or  new- 
modelied  the  ftory  with  the  happieft  effect.  Yet 
inde»pendently  of  the  general  argument  againil  alle- 
gorical interpretation,  drawn  from  Homer's  cha- 
racter of  writing,  there  are  in  the  ftory  itfelf,  when. 
clofely  examined,  fuch  contradictions  to  the  fup- 
pofed  moral  defign,  that  we  muit  either  give  it  up 
as  a  falfe  notion,  or  conclude  that  the  author  was 
abfolutety  void  of  the  judgment  requisite  for  fuch  a 
fpecies  of  compofition. 

Let  us  trace  'the  outline  of  the  fable. 
Ulyffes,  landing  upon  the  ifland  of  Circe,  fends 
a  party  to  explore  the  country.     They  arrive  at  the 
palace  of  Circe,  who  ccurteoufly  invites  them  to 
enter  ;    and  all  but  Eurylochus  comply.      She   fets 
before  them  a  mixture  of  meal,   cheefe,  honey,   and 
Pramnian  wine  ;    the  fame  compofition   as  Nector 
prepares  for  the  Avounded  chiefs  in  the  Iliad.    With 
this  the  mixes  poifonous  drugs  ;  and  after  they  have 
ail  partaken  of  the  refection,  fhe  flrikes  them  with  a 
rod,  and  they  are  initantly  transformed  into  fwine. 
Now,  what  is  there  in  this  that  looks  on  their  parts 
like  intemperance  or  grofs  fenfuality  ?     Could  they 
have  d^ne  lefs  than  accept  a  civility  which  had  no- 
thing  extraordinary    iv,   its   circumilar.ces,     and   in 
which  they  did  not,   as  far  as  appears,  exceed  the 
bounds  of  moderation  ?     Homer,  who  is  fo  copious 
in  the  praifes   of  hofpitality,    certainly   could  not 
mean  to  reprefent  it  as  a  fault  to  partake  of  the  hof- 


STORY    OF    CIRCE.  $$ 

pitable  board  ;    and  his  greateft   heroes  are  by  no 
means  backward  or  abftemious  on  fuch  occafions. 

But  what  follows  ?  On  the  return  of  Eurylo- 
chus,  who  not  knowing  the  fate  of  his  companion:;, 
concluded  that  they  were  all  murdered,  UlyfTes 
bravely  refolves  to  fet  out  alone  in  order  to  explore 
the  event.  In  the  way  he  is  met  by  Hermes  in  the 
fhape  of  a  youth,  who  informs  him  of  the  nature 
and  mode  of  Circe's  enchantments  ;  and  prefenting 
him  with  a  root  called  Moly  as  a  prefervative  di- 
rects him,  on  being  touched  with  the  rod,  to  draw 
his  fword  and  threaten  Circe  with  death.  "  Then 
(fays  he)  CnQ  will  invite  you  to  her  bed  ;  and  do  not 
you  on  any  account  refufe  the  offer,  fince  it  will 
conciliate  her  kindnefs  :  but  nrfl  bind  her  with  an 
oath  not  to  plan  further  mifchief  againil  you." 
UlyfTes  acls  in  all  points  as  he  was  commanded. 

What  then  is  this  Moly  ?  The  "commentators 
dare  not  call  it  temperance — that  would  be  too  ma- 
nifeib  an  outrage  to  the  circumflances  of  the  adven- 
ture. They  make  it  therefore  inflruttion  or  pru- 
dence, and  thus  they  are  at  once  constrained  to  lower 
the  moral  to  a  mere  leiTon  of  caution.  Mdy,  how 
ever,  would  better  exprefs  the  later  doctrine  of. 
eleMhny  and  the  nnlefs  privilege  of  the  faints:  for 
UlyfTes,  without  any  merit  of  his  own,  indulges 
with  impunity  in  much  gCeflfer  acts  of  fenfualky 
than  his  men  had  done,  who  were  turned  into  beafls 
inertly  for  following  the  common  dictates  cf  nature. 
The  fequel  is  Hill  more  frsecondkable  to  the  fct>- 


54  LETTER        VII, 

pofed  allegory  cf  temperance  ;  for  IJIyffes  flays  a 
whole  year  with  Circe,  fharing  her  bed,  and  making- 
merry  with  her  good  cheer,  without  ever  thinking 
of  Ithaca,  till  his  men  remonftrate  with  him,  and 
urge  his  return.  It  is  obfervable,  that  this  part  of 
his  conduct  is  exactly  that  which  the  Italian  poets 
have  attributed  to  their  intemperate  heroes,  who  are 
prefented  as  examples  of  great  virtues  with  great 
defects.  Critics  attempt  to  obviate  this  objection 
to  the  ftory,  by  faying  that  UlyfTes  was  not  intend- 
ed for  a  perfect  character.  But  in  an  adventure 
meant  to  exemplify  a  particular  virtue,  it  would  be 
abfurd  indeed  to  make  the  principal  circumftance  a 
deviation  from  that  very  virtue. 

On  the  whole  I  cannot  but  be  convinced,  that 
Homer  in  the  ftory  of  Circe  had  no  ether  end  in 
view,  than  in  that  of  the  Cyclops,  the  L^eftrigons, 
and  various  others,  namely,  to  gratify  the  paffion 
for  novelty  and  love  of  wonder  belonging  to  all 
?ges  and  all  readers,  by  introducing  into  the  travels 
of  his  hero,  all  thofe  extraordinary  narrations  which 
he  had  learned  from  tradition,  or  the  reports  of 
manners.  This  p.urpofe,  fo  natural  in  a  poet  of  a 
rude  -age,  will  account,  not  only  for  the  ftrange 
matter  intermixed  with  many  of  his  fables,  but  for 
their  being  introduced  at  all.  He  who  looks  for 
any  better  reafon  for  many  things  that  he  will  find 
in  the  early  writers,  will  only  facrince  his  own  judg- 
ment to  their  reputation. 

Ycur  affectionate,  &c 


(     55     ) 


LETTER    VIII. 


ON     NATURE    AND     ART,      AND    THE    LOVE    OF 
NOVELTY. 


DEAR     SON, 


Ti 


HE  Englifh  fchool  of  the  fine  arts  has  diftin- 
guifhed  itfelf  from  every  other,  by  a  more  univerfal 
reference  to  nature  as  a  ftandard,  and  a  bolder  re- 
jection of  principles  of  art  long  and  widely  efta- 
bliihed.  Impatient  of  rules,  little  endowed  with  a 
capacity  for  ingenious  and  elegant  fiction,  but 
ftrongly  fenfible  of  natural  beauty  and  fublimity, 
our  men  of  tafte  have  fallen  into  a  peculiarity  of 
manner  which  has  its  excellencies  and  its  defects. 
It  has  foftered  an  ex  ail:  judgment  in  reprefenta- 
tions  of  nature,  whether  mental  or  corporeal  ;  it 
has  elevated  the  imagination  with  the  nobleft  ob- 
jects, and  touched  the  heart  with  the  mofl  genuine 
paffions  ;  but  it  has  narrowed  the  range  of  plea- 
furable  fenfations,  and  has  infpired  a  faftidioug 
difreHfli  of  many  eficrts  of  ingenuity.  By  endea- 
vouring to  purfue  to  the  firft  principles  of  an  ab- 
ftrad  philofophy  every  fpectdatioo  concerning  the 


§6  LETTER       VIII. 

fine  arts,  a  habit  has  been  introduced,  of  refufing 
to  be  pleafed  where  the  fource  of  pleafure  could 
not  be  clearly  traced  ;  and  that  du&ility  of  foul  to- 
wards attempts  to  amufe,  which  is  fo  happy  a  pre- 
parative to  their  effects,  has  been  reprefied  by  the 
pride  of  reafoning.  Perhaps  the  true  philofophy 
of  the  human  mind  has  fuffered  as  much  from  this 
fcrutinizing  fpirit,  as  the  capacity  for  enjoyment 
has  done — perhaps  the  right  folution  of  a  funda- 
mental theorem  has  been  miffed  by  looking  too  far 
for  it.  I  intend  in  this  letter  to  offer  to  your  con- 
fideration  the  varied  operations  of  a  fimple  princi- 
ple, which,  I  conceive,  will  explain  and  juftify 
many  things  that  our  national  feverity  of  judgment 
has  queitioned  or  rejected. 

What  is  the  great  requ'fite  in  all  endeavours  to 
entertain  ? — novelty.  Satiated  and  difTatisfled  with 
things  within  our  daily  view,  we  roam  in  refllefs 
fearch  after  fomething  either  abfolutely  new,  or 
novel  in  form  and  degree.  This  pnffion,  which  is 
in  fome  meafure  univerfal  to  the  human  race,  and 
which  is  ever  ltronger  in  proportion  to  the  advance- 
ment in  knowledge  and  civilization,  might,  perhaps,, 
by  the  acute  metaphyfician  be  referred  to  fome 
remoter  principle  ,  but  practically  it  is  ult:m;:te  ; 
and  the  deHr^s  it  excites  nothing  clfe  can  JGatisfy. 
Inilead  of  afking,  "  Who  will  mew  us  any  good  ?" 
our  cry  is,  Who  will  fhew  us  any  thing  new  ? — and 
he  who  is  fortunate  enough  to  be  able  to  do  this, 
is  fare  of  a  recomper.ee. 


NATURE    AND    ART.  $j 

There  are  two  fources  from  whence  this  dcfire 
leeks  gratification  :  nature  and  art.  In  nature, 
whatever  has  never  before,  or  but  rarely  been  pre- 
fented  to  us,  affords  pleafure  on  that  account,  which 
is  greatly  enhanced  when  the  object  is  in  other 
refpecls  capable  of  exciting  agreeable  fenfations. 
This  is  undoubtedly  the  nobleft,  the  moll  delicious, 
and  perhaps  the  mefl  copious  fource  df  pleafure  ; 
but  to  many,  its  enjoyment  to  any  great  extent  is 
precluded  by  circumflances,  and  probably  length  of 
time  will  exhaufc  it  in  all.  The  inhabitant  of  a 
great  city,  imprifoned  within  its  walls  by  bufinefs 
or  necefuty,  can  only  at  fecond  hand  receive  the 
knpreiEons  proceeding  from  a  view  of  the  grand 
p.r.d  beautiful  cf  nature's  works.  And  even  the 
villager,  though  placed  amid  the  meft  pictaiefq.ie 
affemblage  of  woods,  lakes,  and  mountains,  mufl 
inevitably  find  their  charms  pall  upon  his  fenfe,  on- 
lefs  fupported  by  new  objects  of  curiolity  opening 
from  a  clofer  refearch  into  the  wonders  of  creation* 
It  is  the  fame  with  that  part  of  nature  which  relates 
to  the  mind.  The  ordinary  difplay  of  pafiions  and 
interefts  which  we  behold  in  real  life  and  in  hiilory, 
proves  at  length  infuiiicient  to  fill  our  minds.  We 
eagerly  look  out  for  more  extraordinary  characters 
and  events  ;  and  at  laffc  are  compelled  to  quit  nature 
altogether,  and  feed  our  appetite  for  novelty  upon 
imaginary  beings. 

To  art  then,  in  fome  form  or  other,  we  all  refort 
for  a    remedy  of  the  tedium    vita  j    and  national 


$$  LETTER       Vin. 

tafces  are  chiefly  characterifed  by  the  mode  and 
degree  in  which  it  is  employed.  It  is  in  the  arts 
termed  imitative,  that  differences  in  thefe  refpe&s 
are  moll  remarkable.  It  might  have  been  fuppofed, 
that,  referring  to  nature  for  their  archetyes,  they 
could  vary  only  in  the  greater  or  lefs  perfection  of 
their  imitation.  But  as  this  has  not  been  the  cafe, 
it  is  evident  that  thefe  arts  muft  have  fome  addi- 
tional object.  In  fact,  they  are  not,  in  general,  in- 
tended to  give  exact  copies  of  nature.  Their  pur- 
pofe  is  to  heighten  her,  to  difguife  her,  to  alter  her, 
perhaps  for  the  worfe,  but  at  any  rate  to  produce 
novelty.  Nature  fupplies  the  form  and  feature,  but 
art  contributes  the  drefs  and  air.  It  is  in  vain  to 
attempt  upon  general  principles  to  determine  the 
proportion  each  mould  preferve  in  the  combination. 
For  whether  the  end  be  to  pleafe  or  to  move,  to 
flatter  the  imagination  or  excite  the  paffions,  the 
fuccefs  of  the  means  will  greatly  depend  upon  man- 
ners, habits,  and  perhaps  phyfical  diverilties,  in 
refpect  to  which  no  one  people  can  be  a  rule  to 
another.  But  I  have  dwelt  too  long  upon  general 
ideas — let  us  come  to  examples. 

The  drama  is  of  all  the  efforts  of  art  that  which 
approaches  the  neareft  to  nature.  It  has  every  ad- 
vantage conjoined,  which  the  others  poffefs  fingly  ; 
and  indeed  in  fome  circumftances  almcft  ceafes  to 
be  a  reprefentation,  bat  is  the  thing  itfelf.  Yet 
how  differently  have  different  nations  conducted 
their  dramatic  fpectaclcs.  and  how  manifeilly  have 


NATURE    AND    ART.  J9 

they  intended  variation  from  nature,  where  copying 
it  would  have  been  obvious  and  eafy.     The  Greeks, 
as  you  well  know,  wrote  all  their  plays  in  meafure, 
and  pronounced  them  in  recitative  with  the  accom- 
paniment of  mufic,  and  with  regulated  gefticulation. 
They  covered  the  ftage  with  a  chorus,    which   was 
made  privy  to  the  moft  fecret  tranfactions,  and  in- 
terrupted the  dialogue  by  odes  of  the  moft  elevated 
poetry.     All  this  was  certainly  deviating  far  enough 
from   reality  ;    yet   never  were  the  powers    of  the 
ftage   over  the    paffions  more  confpicuous  than   in 
Greece,    and  never   were  a  people   more   enthufiaf- 
tically  fond  of  theatrical   exhibitions.      In  all  thefe 
points  the  Romans  exactly  copied  them.      Modern 
nations  have  in   different  degrees  followed  the   an- 
cient models.      All  have  adopted  verfe  as  the  vehicle 
of  tragedy,  and  moft,  of  comedy.     They  have,  at 
leaft  in  the  interludes,    afibciated  dance   and  mufic. 
But  the    Italians,    in  their  operas,    have  employed 
throughout    the    fame  artifices  of  recitative,    fong, 
and   meafured  action,    that   were  ufed   by  the   an- 
cients.    A  true-bred  Englifhman  laughs  -at  all  this, 
or   yawns.      Some   of  our   firft  wits   have  not  dif- 
dained  to   point  their  ridicule,  againft  heroes  (tab- 
bing   themfelves    in    cadence,    and    lovers    expiring 
with  a  quaver,      But  a   fenfible   Italian   furely  does 
not  want  to  be  told  that  this  is  not  nature.      He 
looks  for  nature  in  the  ftory,  the  paffions  and  the 
fentiments;    but  by  allying  it  with  the   charms   of 
excmifite  mufic  and  graceful  gefture,  he  feels  that 


6o  LETTER       VIII. 

he  obtains  fomething  more,  without  lofing  any 
thing.  It  may,  indeed,  require  time  and  excrcife 
to  acquire  a  true  relifh  for  fuch  exhibitions,  and 
fafhion  may  have  induced  many  to  affect  at  thefq 
fpectacles  a  pleafure  which  they  do  not  feel,  efpe- 
cially  when  the  language  of  the  piece  is  a  foreign 
one.  But  I  think  we  cannot,  without  grofs  pre- 
judice, doubt  that  they  are  capable  of  exciting 
genuine  raptures,  and  that,  in  perfons  whofe  fenfe 
of  propriety  is  as  juit  and  delicate  as  our  own. 
You  know  that  in  this  matter  I  claim  an  un- 
prejudiced opinion,  at  leaft  on  the  fide  for  which 
I  am  pleading,  fince  my  own  tafles  are  perfectly 
home-bred,  and  my  conviction  of  the  power  of  fuch 
arts  is  founded  more  on  the  textimony  of  others, 
than  on  my  own  experience.  I  confefs,  that  I  was 
inclined  to  laugh  at  the  idea  of  heroic  dancing,  till 
a  friend  of  mine,  a  judicious  unaffected  country 
gentleman,  who  had  been  to  fee  Veftris  in  a  ferious 
opera,  aifured  me,  that  he  had  received  from  his 
action  fenfations  of  dignity,  grace,  and  pathos, 
furpailing  .any  thing  of  which  he  had  before  formed 
a  conception. 

What  is  tragedy  among  ourfelves  ?  Is  it  not  a 
dialogue  in  verfe,  intermixed  with  all  the  decora- 
tions of  poetry  ? — and  is  this  nature  P  I  am  aware 
that  Englifn  blank  verfe  may  be  fo  pronounced;  as 
to  be  no  verfe  at  all  ;  and  this  fuppofed  improve- 
ment was  introduced  on  our  fiage  by  Garrick, 
whofe   idea  of  perfect  recitaticn  was  that   of  imi- 


KATUR.2    AND    ART.  C  \ 

Htlng  natural  fpeech  as  nearly  as  poflible.  In 
hflghly  impaflioned  parts,  and  efpeeMy  where  fhort 
and  broken  fentences  copied  the  real  language  of 
emotion,  this  mode  certainly  gave  him  an  advantage 
in  exciting  the  fympathy  of  a  common  audience. 
But  where  the  writer  was,  and  meant  to  be,  poeti- 
cal, I  cannot  but  think  that  a  recitation  with  the 
ore  rotunda  of  Booth  and  Barry,  in  which  a  mufical 
flow  was  given  to  fentences  by  means  of  returning 
fvvells  and  cadences,  with  a  light  fufpenfion  of  the 
voice  to  mark  the  clofe  of  each  line,  Lad  a  finer 
effect,  and  better  coincided  with  the  purpofe  of  the 
poet.  It  is  obvious  to  remark,  that  if  verfe  is  not 
to  be  pronounced  as  fuch,  it  is  unneceffary  to  write 
it  ;  for  any  pleafure  the  eye  can  receive  by  parcel- 
ling out  lines  into  divisions  of  ten  fyilables,  mint 
be  merely  ehildifti,  unlefs  it  originally  refers  to  the 
ear. 

In  every  country  but  our  own,  verfe  is  read  with 
what  we  call  a  tone  or  chant — a  fort  of  modulation 
between  finging  and  common  fpeaking  ;    as  it   un- 
doubtedly was  likewife  by  the  Greeks  and  Romans. 
In  this  mode  of  reciting,  emphafis  is,  tc  our  ears, 
almoft  entirely    loft,    as  any  one  will   perceive   on 
g   French  verfe   read  by   a  native.      Yet    no 
readers  appear  more   impreffed  with   their  fubject, 
or  more  to  intereft  their  hearers,   than  the  French. 
We  always    endeavour    to   preferve    the    emphafis, 
i   often  to  the  total  lofs  of  the  modulation. 
Which   of  thefe  methods  is  belt,  cannot  eafih 
F 


62  LETTER.      VIII. 

determined  by  general  principles,  but  mufc  be  re- 
ferred to  tallies  and  habits  already  formed.  On  the 
whole,  however,  that  nation  which  derives  the 
greateft  pleafure  from  i:s  performances,  has  beft 
attained  its  end.  With  this  remark,  and  the  corol- 
lary— that  no  one  nation  can  be  a  competent  judge 
of  the  verification  of  another — I  conclude  my  pre-* 
fent  letter,  to  refumc  the  fubjec~t  in  my  next. 


(     «3     ) 


LETTER     IX. 


THE     FORMER.     SUBJECT    CONTINUED. 

1  HE  train  of  thought  which  I  have  folio  wed, 
next  leads  me  to  coniider  the  poetical  language  of 
tragedy  ;  another  circurnllance  in  which  art  takes 
the  lead  of  nature.  I  know,  indeed,  that  critics 
have  afferted  figurative  diction  to  be  natural  to  per- 
Ions  labouring  under  ftrong  emotions  ;  but  for 
proof  of  this  aifertion,  I  find  quotations  from 
Shakefpear,  inilead  of  appeals  to  fact.  One  of 
thefe  critics,  and  of  no  mean  rank,  has  given  as  an 
example  of  the  natural  playfulnefs  of  a  lover's  ima- 
gination, Juliet's  fancy  of  cutting  out  Romeo  all 
into  little  liars  when  he  is  dead.  I':i{lo  not  deny 
that  a  certain  degree  of  mental  er.c'itement  (to  ufe 
modern  phrafeology)  may,  like  a  cheerful  glafs, 
vivify  the  imagination,  and  impart  a  glow  and 
fluency  of  expreffion  ;  but  I  never  knew  a  real  in- 
stance in  which  violent  pafiion,  like  intoxication, 
did  not  overwhelm  the  intellectual  faculties,  and 
abolifn  all  connexion  of  thought  and  choice  of  lan- 
guage. But  tragedy  cannot  ccnfifl  of  ahs  and  oh's, 
of  exclamation?  and  broken  fentences.      Its  purpofe 

F  2 


6±  L    E    T    T    2    R        IX. 

is  to  delight,  to  inftruft,  to  elevate,  and  above  all, 
to  gratify  the  denre  of  novelty  :  the  pafficn  of 
tragedy  is  therefore  necefTarfly  made  fluent,  inven- 
tive, eloquent,  metaphorical,  arid  fententious.  See 
-  '  q  characterifes  the  tragic  writers  of  the 
Grecian  fchool. 

Thence  what  the  lofty  grave  tragedians  taught, 

In  chorus  and  iambic,  teachers  bed 

Of  moral  prudence,  wit  it  received 

In  brief  fententious  precepts,  while  they  treat 
Of  fate,  and  chance,   and  change  in  human  life, 
High  actions,  and..      .        tons  beft  defcribing. 

PAR.  Reg.  iv.  161. 

It  was  evidently  after  this  model,  that  he  framed 
m  A±     iftes  and  Com  us,  pieces,  howe 
adapted  for  the  modern  Engliih  ftage,   ' 
continue  to  charm  and  inilruct  the  cultivated  reader, 
as  long  as  the  language  in  which  they  are  written 
exifts.       I  ;r   would    Shakefpear  himfelf,     t" 

byled  the  bard  of  nature,  have  afforded 
a  whole  fchool  of  poetry  and  morals,  had  his 
dialogue   been   a   real  pattern  of  that    natural  fim- 

.a  to  characberife  it. 
To  every  impartial  obferver  it  will  be  manifeit, 
that  his  "  brief  fententious  precepts"  are  generally 
brought  in  with  effort  ;  and  that  his  fublime  and 
often  far-fetched  images  rather  belong  to  the  play- 
than  to  the  fpeaker.  The  fweet  Racine  and 
be  communicated  their  own  diftinc- 


NATURE    AN'D    ART.  6 


tions  to  all  their  characters,  and  were  properly 
t:  defcribers  of  high  actions  and  high  paffions"  in 
their  feveral  ftyles.  In  fnort,  if  tragedy  be  net 
confidered  as  a  fublime  poem,  rather  than  a  mere 
fable  to  move  the  pafiions  for  a  moral  purpefe,  it 
will  be  impofiible  not  to  prefer  the  Gameiler  and 
George  Barnwell  to  any  performance  of  Shakefpear, 
Corneille,   or  Sophocles. 

It  would  not  be  a  difacait  talk  to  apply  this 
ciple  of  novelty  to  various  ether  fpecies  of  poetical 
compofition,  and  particularly  by  it  to  account  for 
the  fuppofed  neceffity  of  machinery  in  the  Epic, 
which  can  fcarcely  have  any  other  reafonable  pu  - 
pofe  than  to  excite  wonder  ;  but  I  (hall  at  prefent 
content  myfelf  with  fome  remarks  on  its  funda- 
mental importance  in  PaJloraL 

The  nature  and  defign  of  paftoral  poetry  have 
been  very  differently  reprefented  by  critics,  and 
their  opinions  have  been  refpectively  fupported  by 
appeals  to  the  practice  of  different  writers.  I  have 
no  doubt,  however,  that  the  true  fecret  of  the 
pleafure  derived  from  paftoral,  and  confequently, 
of  the  genuine  plan  on  which  it  fhould  be  written, 
is  an  univerfal  longing  after  a  certain  imagined  ftate 
of  fociety,  which  never  did  exift,  but  which  may 
readily  be  conceived,  and  by  its  innocence,  tran- 
,  and  iimple  delights,  fweetly  confraft  with 
the  turbulence  and  evils  of  the  real  world.  It  is 
no  new  opinion  that  this  poetry  has  a  reference  to 
the  golden  age  ;    but  by  this  age,    I  would  not  ua- 

F3 


66  LETTER        It. 

derftand  any  period  recorded  by  tradition,  but  ra- 
ther a  kind  of  Utopia,  in  which  the  wounded  and 
wearied  fpirit  of  mail  haG  ever  delighted  to  take 
refuge.  In  this  fancied  picture,  however*  there  is 
a  natural  pare  ;  for  fuch  are  the  real  charms  of 
nature,  that  even  imagination  can  do  no  more  in 
decorating  a  terreftrial  paradife,  than  to  collect  in 
one  foot,  and  in  their  highefl  perfection,  ail  the 
delightful  produ&ions  of  different  climes  and  fea- 
fons.  More  has  fometimos  been  attempted  ;  but 
the  novelty  of  trees  bearing  flowers  of  gems  and 
fruits  of  gold,  has  not  atoned  for  its  incongruity; 
ond  after  all,  an  orange  tree  is  a  more  beautiful 
object.  Eat  manners,  alas  !  muft  be  invented  for 
the  fcene.  The  tender  pafiion  in  a  degree  of  purity- 
it  never  pofTeiTed,  content,  difmtereflednefs,  bene- 
volence, fimplicity,  and  delicacy,  which,  if  ever 
they  infpired  one  bofom,  certainly  never  did  one 
hamlet,  muft  concur,  along  with  fome  alloy  by  way 
of  contrail,  ;to  form  inhabitants  for  the  blifsful 
fpot.  Amid  fuch  a  faery  people,  I  confefs  I  do 
not  regret  nature  ;  nor  at  my  age  am  I  afhamed  of 
lofmg  myfelf  in  the  Arcadian  walks  of  a  Paflor  Fido 
and  Aminta.  To  contaminate  a  beautiful  creation 
of  the  hiicy  with  rude  manners  and  coarfe  efXpref- 
merely  beeauie  they  belong  to  the  miferable- 
fnepherds  of  this  actual  world,  appears  to  me  a 
wretched  attempt  at  accuracy.      E;.  .  -vd  this- 

fpecies  of  poetry  altogether,   than  render  it  the  ve- 
hicle of  "...  ihe  itrffea  and 


NATURE    AND    ART.  6j 

mean  pafiions  of  ruflics,  that  they  mould  be  deco- 
rated with  the  graces  of  verification  ?  and  make  a 
part  of  our  moll  elegant  amufement?  Is  it  to  teach 
us  mankind,  and  prevent  our  being  impofed  upon 
by  falfe  representations  ?  Alas  !  we  know  too  well 
that  no  Arcadia  exifts  upon  modern  ground,  and 
that  vice  and  wretchednefs  prevail  in  the  hamlet  as 
well  as  in  the  city.  But  why  might  we  not  for  a 
time  be  indulged  with  forgetting  it? 

Pafloral,  in  the  light   I   confkler  it,    is  rural  ro- 
mance.    As  in   the  compofitions   which  were  once 
fo  celebrated  under  the  name  of  romance,  a  fet  of 
human    beings,    trained    up    in    fanciful    principles, 
and  elevated  to  the  higheft  fcale  of  imaginary  per- 
fection, are  engaged  in   a    ferics  of  equally   extra- 
ordinary  adventures  ;   fo  in  pafloral,    the  model  of 
character    and    the    incidents    are    derived    from    a 
fictitious    {late    of   fociety.      The    natural    circum- 
ftances,    however,    of  the  pafloral  life,    accord  bell 
with  a  certain  Simplicity  of  language  and  manners; 
whence   the   conceits   and   cuaintneffes    in   the   dia- 
logue of  fome  of  the    Italian  pafloral   dramas,    by 
violating  congruity,  oirend  againfl  true  tafle.      Yet, 
in    fact,  to   refine  the   language    of  fhepherds  from 
al]  admixture  of  groflhefs,  and  to  decorate  it  with 
the  fimpler  graces  ef  fweetnefe  and  purity,  is  almoft 
an     equal    departure   from    reality.       But    without 
.  Ji  accommodation  to  cur  longings  after  a 
ne  v  md  better  ftate  of  mankind,  the  great  end  of 
ca    lot  be  accomplice  L 


63 


T    E    R.        IX. 


Were  I  inclined  to  purfue  my  fubject  at  length, 
I  might  take  occafion,  from  the  illuftration  I  have 
employed,    to  treat  on  romantic  fictions  in  general, 
and  to  inftitute  a  companion   between  the  old  ro- 
mance  and  the    modern   novel.      But    not   defiring 
to  detain  you  fo  long  on   this  topic,    I  mall  only 
touch  upon  a  circumftance  apparently  contradictory 
to  that  love  of  novelty  on  which  I  have  laid  fo  much 
ftrefs  ;    and  this  is,  the  preference  now  fo  uiiiver- 
fally  given   to  novels,  over  the  romances  which  fur- 
nifhed  matter  fo  much  newer  and  more  marvellous. 
The  reafon  of  this  face  feems  to  be,   that  we  are 
much   more    creatures  of  feeling   than   of  imagina- 
tion ;    and   that  nature   being  predominant   in   cur 
pailions,  all  attempts  to  excite  the  fympathetic  emo- 
tions mull  fucceed  in  proportion  as  they  approach 
her  ftandard.      I  before  admitted,  that  the  novelty 
prefented  by  nature,  is  of  a  nobler  kind  than  that 
produced  by  art.      Uncommon  characters   and  ex- 
traordinary events,  therefore,  which  have  a  natural 
foundation,    will    always    interefl    more   than    thofe 
which  are   wholly    artificial.       Now,     the   writings 
ftyled  novels,    are   intended  to  imprefs  us  like  the 
narrations  of  real  occurrences.     They  even  pretend 
(however  falfely,    for  the  moil  part)   to  inftrucl  us 
in  the  knowledge  of  human  life.     Their  effect  de- 
pends   on  a    kind   of   illufion,    which   makes    their 
perfonages  appear  to   us  like  familiar  acquaintance, 
whofe   fentiments  and  actions  are  what   we    fib 
expert    from  the    circumftances    u>.der   which  they 


NATURE    AND    ART.  69 

are  placed.  Romance,  on  the  other  hand,  tranf- 
ports  us  into  a  new  creation — a  world  of  wonders, 
peopled  with  inhabitants  exprefsly  formed  for  the 
They  have  fundamentally,  indeed,  the 
paiTions  of  men  ;  but  fo  modified  by  habits  of 
thinking  and  acting  peculiar  to  themfelves,  that 
they  do  not  produce  the  ufual  refults  of  thofc 
paffions  in  real  life.  An  Amadis  will  fall  in  lore 
as  well  as  a  Grandifon,  but  will  not  love  like  him, 
or  like  any  other  mortal.  Yet  even  Grandifon 
is  not  a  common  character,  nor  is  his  hiftory  a 
n  one — and  hence  the  novelty  of  the  fable. 
It  is  true,  the  ordinary  run  of  novels  exhibit 
pictures  which  are  little  more  than  old  faces  new 
dreffed  and  grouped  ;  and  yet  they  are  perufed 
with  avidity  by  a  certain  clafs  of  readers.  But 
the  tafte  for  fuch  reading  is  a  kind  of  falfe  appetite 
refembling  that  for  fnuffand  tobacco,  which  rather 
feeks  the  fupply  of  a  want,  than  the  enjoyment  cf 
a  pleafure. 

It  is  new  time  to  fum  up  my  critical  doctrine, 
which  I  mail  do  in  few  words.  This  is — that  eve  l 
the  pleafure  derived  from  natural  objects  is  confi- 
'  .  dependent  on  their  novelty — that  art  mere 
peculiarly  applies  to  this  fource  of  gratification — 
that  even  thofe  termed  imitative,  have  a  pu  -p 
diftinct  from  copying  nature,  which  is,  the  allying 
it  with  fomething  new,  as  the  clothing  and  vehicle 
— and  that  with  refpect  to  the  degree  in  which 
thefe  additions  may  be  made  with  a  happy  effect,  it 


70 


T    T    E    R 


depends    in   great   meafure    upon   local    habits  and 
aflbciations. 

I  may,   perhaps,   hereafter  apply   thefe  ideas  t# 
another  topic.     At  prefent, 

Farewel ! 


(     7i     ) 


LETTER     X. 


ON    PREJUDICE,     BIGOTRY,     CANDOUR,    AND/ 
LIBERALITY. 


DEAR    SON. 


S  the  profeffional  concern  you  will  have  in  the 
opinions  of  mankind,  may  fometime  or  other  in- 
volve you  in  controverfy,  I  fhall  offer  to  your  con- 
sideration fome  reflections  ou  the  true  import  cf 
certain  words,  than  which  none  more  frequently 
occur  in  controverfial  writings,  though  their  ap- 
plication is  for  the  moll  part  extremely  loofe  and 
undeterminate.  The  accurate  ufe  of  terms  is  in 
all  cafes  important  ;  but  that  of  the  terms  in  quef- 
tion  is  peculiarly  fo,  in  thoie  times  ef  violent  and 
bitter  party  contention. 

The  firft  that  I  fhall  mention  is  Prejudice. 
This  word,  according  to  its  derivation,  implies  a 
judgment  prior  to  examination  ; — it  feems,  there- 
on its  very  face,  to  bear  the  mark  of  rafh  a  a  :■ 
unreafonable  decifion.  But  in  common  language, 
its   meaning    is  frequently   fcftened   down   into   an 


bppreffion  which  a  man  does  :  c  t 


iple  to  avow, 


/2  L    E   T   T    E    R        X. 

and  for  that  reafon  probably  does  not  recognize  to 

be  wrong.  We  readily  own  a  prejudice  againft  a 
man  or  a  caufe,  if  we  have  grounds  from  expe- 
rience for  thinking  ill  of  them.  And  as  it  is  fre- 
quently neceiTary,  in  the  occurrences  of  life,  to 
come  to  a  practical  determination  in  a  cafe  where 
we  have  nothing  but  fuch  a  preemption  ro  guide 
us,  we  cannot  be  blamed  for  following  the  bed 
lights  we  are  able  to  procure.  Prejudice  in  this 
mftance  is  only  a  reafonable  analogy,  by  which  we 
draw  inferences  of  what  will  be  from  what  has 
been.  I  know  that  a  perfon  has  acquired  an  office 
or  trait  by  fraudulent  means. — I  am  inclined  to 
credit  an  accufation  of  his  having  exercifed  it  frau- 
dulently. A  magiilrate  has  betrayed  an  outrageous 
fpirit  of  party  virulence. — I  fufpeet  that  he  has 
been  influenced  by  it  in  his  deration  of  caufes  m 
which  party  was  concerned.  The  fupporters  of  a 
certain  fyftem  have  always  avoided  difcuffion,  and 
as  much  as  poffible  decried  the  ufe  of  reafon. — 
I  infer  that  their  fyftem  will  not  fland  the  teft  of 
reafoning.  In  ail  thefe  inftances,  the  judgment 
I  form  may  in  ftri&nefs  be  termed  a  prejudice, 
becaufe  it  refults  from  preconceptions,  not  from 
dlredt  examination  of  the  point  in  qutition.  But 
it  is  cenfurable  only  when  it  prevents  me  from 
recurring    to    fuch    an    examination    when    in    my 

S 

rower ;     and    makes    me    acquiefce    in   probability 
when  I  might  have  attained  certainty. 

Prejudice  is    blamable    and   unreafonable,    when 


PREJUDICE,    BIGOTRY,    Sec.  73 

the  inferences  it  draws  either  do  not  at  all  follow 
f  o:n  the  premifes,  or  not  in  the  degree  it  fuppofes. 
Thus  (with  due  fubmiffion  to  the  fcience  of  phy- 
uognomy),  if  I  conclude  a  man  to  be  a  knave  or  a 
fool  from  the  length  of  his  nofe,  or  the  projection 
cf  his  chin,  I  fuffer  myfelf  to  be  milled  by  an  ab- 
furd  method  of  prejudging  what  cannot  be  deter- 
mined by  fueh  a  rule.  Scarcely  iefs  falfe  prejudice 
would  there  be  iu  tire  judgment  I  mould  form  of 
his  character,  from  his  known  opinions  on  fpecula- 
tive  points  of  philofpphy  or  theology.  In  thefe 
inftances  the  conclufions  are  totally  faulty — the  two 
members  of  the  proposition  having  no  more  agree- 
ment, than  in  that  line  of  Pope, 

— each  Ulaiithor  is  a.  bad  a  friend. 

In  other  inftances,  the  error  is  only  in  degree. 
A  perfon  maintains  a  fyftem  manifeftly,  to  my  ap- 
prehenfion,  deftru&ive  of  all  moral  obligation, 
whence  I  conclude  him  to  be  a  man  of  lax  morality. 
But  though  this  be  a  natural  eonfequence,  it  is  not 
a  certain  one;  for  daily  experience  proves,  that 
men  may  lead  the  moil  exemplary  lives  with  prin- 
ciples apparently  cedculated  to  produce  an  oppofile 
e.Tccl  ;  iuch  principles  either  not '  operating  at  all, 
or  being  counteracted  by  more  powerful  ones. 
National  and  profeffional  characters  kad  to  erro- 
neous conclufions  in  a  fimilar  degree.  When 
dawn  from  extenfive  and  accurate  obfervation, 
they  mayjuftly  influence  the  firft  opinions  we  form 
G 


74  LETTER*. 

of  individuals  ;  but  wlien  they  are  adopted  as  uni- 
verfal  and  irrefragable  rules  of  judgment,  and 
render  us  inacceffible  to  all  proofs  of  a  contrary- 
tenor,  they  degenerate  into  the  won't  of  preju- 
dices. Controverfies  political  and  religious  are 
peculiarly  fullied  with  prejudices  of  this  kind. 
Every  feci:  and  party  has  its  diftincl:  dbnoxious 
character,  impreffed  on  the  minds  of  its  violent 
antagoniils,  who  aiTociate  it  to  every  individual  of 
the  clafs,  however  contrary  to  the  manifeft  courfe 
of  his  conduct.  But  I  am  now  got  to  the  confines 
of  another  word,  which  is, 

Bigotry.  This  may  be  confidered  as  preju- 
dice combined  with  a  certain  malignity.  It  is  not 
only  prepofleffed  in  its  judgment,  but  entertains 
its  prepciTeiTiOns  with  pafiion,  and  feels  impreffions 
of  ill-will  againft  thofe  who  oppofe  them.  It 
refills  all  attempts  at  confutation  with  pertinacity 
and  anger.  An  antagonift,  in  its  estimation,  is  a 
foe,  to  be  filenced  by  other  means  than  argument, 
A  bigot  never  reafons  but  when  he  cannot  help  it, 
and  thinks  himfelf  outraged  by  being  compelled  to 
deicend  into  the  field  of  equal  conteft.  At  the 
hazard  of  diicrediting  his  own  Hrength  and  fkil], 
he  is  ready  to  call  out  for  the  civil  arm  to  handcuff 
or  knock  down  his  opponent.  After  the  Earl  of 
Nottingham  had  written  a  defence  of  the  orthodox 
faith  againft  the  attacks  of  Whifton,  and  had  re- 
ceived for  it  the  folemn  thanks  of  the  Univerfity 
of   Oxford   in    full   convocation,    he   attempted  to 


PREJUDICE,    EICOTRY,     &C.  *J  $ 

put   an  end  to  all   further   controversy-,    by    intro- 
ducing into    the  Houfe  of  Peers  a  bill  denouncing 
moil   fevere   penalties   againfl  any   one  who   fliould 
henceforth  oppugn   the   eftablifhed  doctrines.       So 
mean  a  thing  was  bigotry  even  in  a  noble   cham- 
pion !    The  bigot  requires  to  b  ized  before 
he  is  enlightened,   and  the   correction  of  his  heart 
mud  p                  at  of  his  underftandin^l       Simple 
prejudice  is  at  ones  removed  by  removing  the  veil 
concealed  the  truth;  but  bigotry  fofters  its 
prejudices  as   it   would  protect  a  child  or  a  miftrefs. 
To  fpeak  v          f      -€  bigot  is  a  tautology, 
bigotry   includes  the  idea  of  fincerity.      The 
is  ready  to  give  fubftantial  proof  of  the  reality  of 
his   zeal,    often    amounting    to   the  facrifice    cf  his 
-  interefts.    'On  the  other  ithets 
mild,    moderate,    liberal,    rational,    can   never  in  any 
degree  belong  to  a  bigot.      It  is  not  bigotry  to  be 
firmly                     to  a  caufe,  and  to  conceive  of  it  as 
a  thing  of  the  higheft:  moment  ;  but  it  is  bigotry 
to  mat  the  ears  agai                  uments  on  the  oppo- 
site fide,  and  to  refufe  others  that  liberty  cf  judg- 
ment which  we  ouvfeives  affum  t. 

Candour   is    in  feme   meafure  the    oppofite   cf 
bigotry  ;  for  its  effence  conilfls  in  a  difpoiltion  to 
form    a    fair    and   impartial  judgment   on    opinions 
and  actions.      In  the  common  ufe  of  the  word  we 
feem  to  include  a  leaning  towards  a  more  favour- 
judgment  than  is  fcrictly  true.     But  this  ap- 
to  me  to  be  deviating  from  the  proper  fenfe 
G  2 


7  6  LETTER*. 

of  candour,  into  that  of  charity,  which,  as  the 
Apcllle  defcribes  it,  "  thinketh  no  evil."  Now, 
a  perfon  cannot  have  been  long  and  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  mankind,  without  feeing  reafon  too 
often  to  think  a  great  deal  of  evil  of  men's  mo- 
tives and  principles  of  action  ;  and  if  he  imputes 
to  them  no  more  than  the  rules  of  juft  inference 
warrant,  I  imagine  he  is  not  chargeable  with  the 
violation  of  candour. 

There  is  an  afFe&ation  of  candour  which  I  can- 
not but  think  very  detrimental  to  the  interefts  of 
truth  and  virtue*.  It  is,  when  in  fpeaking  or 
r,  a  complaifant  credit  is  given  to  men's  own 
expoiitions  of  their  motives,  in  actions  which  to 
the  common  fenfe  of  mankind  explain  themfelves 
upon  totally  different  principles.  If  the  hypocri- 
tical cant  of  morals  difplayed  in  manifeftos,  apd- 
deelarationsj  and  other  appeals  to  the  public 
in  fufp'cious  caufes,  is,  from  a  notion  of  candour, 
to  be  treated  with  deference,  what  muft  be  in- 
ferred, but  that  candour  is  a  very  weak,  or  a  very 
worldly  principle  ?  Clofely  connected  with  uni- 
versal profligacy,  is  univerfal  indulgence  ;  and  if 
excufes  are  readily  admitted  to  palliate  or  explain 
away  manifeft  violations  of  honour  and  honefty, 
the  great  barriers  between  right  and  wrong  will  be 
in  danger  of  being  overthrown.  Certain  thing* 
which  are  cuftomarily  dons,  are  yet  fo  clearly 
wrong,  that  we  cannot  be  made  to  feel  them  othei- 
wife  without  debauching   our  principles   or  undel  . 


PREJUDICE,    BIGOTRY,    &C.  77 

landing.  If  we  fee  men,  whofe  general  cha- 
racters we  love  and  eiteem,  falling,  through  flrong 
temptation,  into  thefe  errors,  it  is  a  much  better 
exercife  of  candour  to  dwell  upon  every  virtue 
they  poflcfs,  and  fet  it  to  their  credit  in  counter- 
balance to  one  failure,  than  to  vindicate  them  from 
the  failure  kfelf,  by  falfe  reafonings  or  improbable 
fuppofitions. 

The  word  candour  may,  however,  be  under- 
ftood,  as  referring  chiefly  to  the  qualities  of  the 
heart,  and  implying  that  ivhitenefs  or  purity  of 
foul,  which  infpires  the  defire  of  maintaining 
friendly  difpofitions  towards  all  mankind;  and 
which  in  itfelf9  at  leaft,  finds  no  caufe  to  judge 
harfnly  of  others.  And  the  continuance  of  this 
propenfity  through  all  periods  of  life  is  highly 
defirable,  fince  it  will  prove  the  befl  prefervative 
againft  virulence  and  acrimony  in.controverfial  de- 
bates, and  will  tend  to  heal  thofe  wounds  on  focial 
comfort,  which  bigotry  is  perpetually  inflicting. 
This  fpirit  is  fo  beautifully  defcribed  in  fome  lines 
of  Grotius's  poem  on  the  death  of  Arminius,  that 
I  cannot  refrain  from  transcribing  them. 

Cui  caritate  temperata  libertas 
Certat  manere  d-ilidentibus  concors  : 
Pioeque  pur  us  sequitatis  affe&us, 
Damnatus  aliis,  ipfe  neminem  damnat ; 
Modeftiajque  lhnitem  premens,  donat 
ISunc  verba  vero,  nunc  iileutlum  paci. 


7S  L   E   T   T   E   5.        X. 

Liberality   is  a  word  perhaps  of  more  inde- 
terminate ufe  than  any   of  the  former.      Its  proper 
meaning,  when   applied  to  fentiment,   feems   to  be, 
that  generous   expanfion  of  mind    which   enables   it 
to  look  beyond  all   petty  diftin&ions   of  party  and 
fyflem,  and,   in  the  eftimate  of  men  and  things,  to 
rife  fuperior  to   narrow  prejudices.      From  its  me- 
taphorical relation  to  Bounty,    it  indicates  free  allow- 
ance, unftinted  by   rigid   rules.     The    liberal   man, 
like  the  fenate  of  ancient  Rome,  is  fond  of  largely 
extending    the    relation    of   fellow-citizenfhip,    and 
loves  to  admit   all    mankind   to  a  fraternal  (hare   of 
the   regard  of    their    common  Parent.     The    chief 
difficulty  in  adjufting  the  claims  to  liberality  in  con- 
troverfial  points,    arifes    from    the   pretentions  that 
mere  indifference  often   makes  to    it.      But   though 
it  be  admitted,  that   without    fomewhat    of  an  im- 
preffion    of  the   uncertainty   or   comparative  unim- 
portance   of  the    fubjects   about   which    difputants 
are  fo  much  divided,  it   is  fcarcely    pofllble  to  re- 
gard  them  with   a  liberal   fpirit,    yet  this    ftate  of 
mind  is  not  of  ii f elf"  liberality.      It  may,    a;:d  often 
does,  produce  an  arrogant  and  contemptuous  mode 
of  treating  opponents  not  arrived  at  fo  happy  a  de- 
gree  of  laxity,  which  is  as   really  contrary  to  the 
fpirit  of  liberality,   as  the   eppefte  ilnO.nefs  can  be. 
It  mult,  however,   be  cenfeffed,  that  there  is  in 
the  very   nature  of  fame  tenets,  fomething  fo  eiTen- 
tially  adverfs   to  liberality,  that   they  never  can  be 
imagined  to  fubfLi  together.       A    man   who    is  fo 


PREJUDICE,    BIGOTRY,     Ktf.  79 

unfortunate  as  to  believe  that  all  but  there  of  hia 
own  way  of  thinking  are  doomed  to  eternal  re- 
brobation,  can  fcarcely,  whatever  be  the  native 
temper  of  his  mind,  view  with  any  thing  like 
liberal  allowance  the  opinions  oppofed  to  his  own, 
or  the  attempts  to  propagate  them.  How  can  he 
give  the  hand  of  fraternity  to  one  whom  he  fup- 
pofes  the  inveterate  foe  of  God  and  man?  How 
can  he  raife  himfelf  above  differences,  which  in 
his  own  estimation  rife  infinitely  beyond  every 
thing  elfe  ? 

Among  the  caufes  nvc  have  for  thankfulncfs,  it 
is  not  the  leart  confiderable,  that  we  have  been 
taught  to  regard  the  whole  human  race  as  one 
family,  all  capable  cf  rendering  themfelves  ap- 
proved by  their  common  Father,  who,  in  allotting 
them  different  portions  of  light  and  knowledge, 
haS  certainly  not  expected  from  thern  an  unifor- 
mity of  belief  and  practice. 

I  conclude  with  a  brief  exemplification  cf  the 
ufe  of  the  terms  in  quefcion. 

When  Jefus  preached,  Prejudice  cried,  "  Can 
any  good  thing  come  out  of  Nazareth  ?"  "  Cru- 
cify him,  crucify  him,"  exclaimed  Bigotry, 
"  Why,  what  evil  hath  he  done  ?"  remonftrated 
lour.  And  Liberality  drew  from  his  words 
this  inference,  "  In  every  nation,  he  that  fenreth 
Go  J  and  worketh  righteoufhefs,  is  accepted  with 
him." 

Your  truly  aSb&ionate,  Sec. 


(     8°     ) 


LETTER     XL 


ON    RELIGIOUS     SOCIETIES. 


DEAR    SON, 


W: 


E  have  read  together  an  EJfay  en  Seels  and 
EJlabll/bmenis,  with  an  admiration  in  which  we 
might  fufpecl:  an  allowable  partiality,  had  not  the 
unbiaffed  voice  of  the  public  given  an  equal  at- 
tention to  its  merit.  The  truly  philofophical 
view  it  has  taken  of  the  fubjec"r.,  and  the  novel 
and  acute  obfervations  with  which  it  abounds,  ex- 
preffed  with  a  characteriftic  force  and  brilliancy  of 
language,  have  fairly  entitled  it  to  the  rank  of  a 
mailer-piece  in  its  kind.  The  home  truths  it  con- 
tains have  not,  I  believe,  been  univerfally  relifhed, 
but  they  have  commanded  the  afTent  of  impartial 
obfervers.  PoiTibly,  however,  fome  of  the  ideas 
given  in  it  concerning  Sects,  are  rather  hiftorically 
than  effentially  true ;  and  new  Hates  of  opinion 
and  manners  may  arife,  in  which  different  prin- 
ciples rnufl  be  called  in  for  the  purpofe  of  de- 
termining:   on  their  character  and  fate.     Inafmuch 


RELIGIOUS     SOCIETIES  8l 

as  feds  are  the  counterparts  of  eftablifhments,  the 
fpirit  of  the  one  muil  depend  upon  that  cf  the 
other;  and  it  may  happen,  that  without  any  ma- 
nifeft  change  in  an   eftablifhment,    its  influence  on 

men's  minds  may  be  fo  much  altered,  as  materially 
to  alter  the  nature  cf  diflent  from  it.  I  will  net 
(ay  that  this  has  actually  taken  place  among  us ; 
yet  in  proportion  as  the  full  right  in  every  indivi- 
dual to  choofe  his  mede  cf  religion  is  commonly 
admitted,  as  penalties  and  difabilitivis  are  foftened 
or  aboliihed,  and  as  men  are  accuftomed  to  view 
with  unconcern  different  fyftems  cf  faith  and  wor- 
(hip,  it  is  evident,  that  the  circumftance  cf  bc- 
g  to  a  feci  or  an  eftablifhment,  will  produce 
lefs  effect  upon  manners  and  character.  In  this 
flate  of  things,  indeed,  according  to  the  doctrine 
of  the  Effay,  the  cauis  of  Seels  will  infallibly 
decline ;  but  I  knew  not  whether  the  fpirit  cf 
forming  religious  focieiies  will  not,  on  the  contrary, 
gain  ground.  It  appears  to  me  that  this  is  already 
the  fpirit  cf  many  feparatifla,  who,  while  they 
have  loft  all  attachment  to  feels,  as  confiding  cf 
united  bodies  known  by  particular  designations, 
have  by  no  means  become  indifferent  in  their  choice 
of  religious  inftitutions. 

By  a  religious  fociety,  in  contradistinction  to  afe89 
I  understand  limply  this — that  a  number  cf  per- 
fons  of  a  fimilar  way  cf  thinking,  for  no  other 
purpofe  than  merely  to  enjoy  to  the  greater!  advan- 
tage   their   own    taftes    and    opinions    in    religion, 


$2 


Better     xi. 


alfociate  to  form  a  congregation.  It  is  perfectly 
immaterial  to  them  (further  than  as  they  may  wifh 
the  prevalence  of  what  they  moil  approve)  whe- 
ther or  no  there  exifr.  any  other  fuch  fociety  in  the 
world.  Religion  is  to  them  merely  a  perfonal 
affair,  unconnected  with  other  interefts  ;  and  their 
only  motive  for  aiTeciatmg  in  it  at  all,  is  that  they 
find  a  duty  or  advantage  in  fecial  worfh'p,  which 
compels  them  to  adopt  means  for  its  performance. 
They  have  nothing  to  do  either  with  attack  or  de- 
fence, unlefs  the  grand  and  uniyerfal  principle  of 
the  right  of  private  judgment  in  matters  of  religion 
be  called  in  queftion.  In  fupport  of  that,  they 
make  a  common  caufe  with  all  ether  feparatiits, 
and  fo  far  they  acl  as  fetlaries ;  but  otherwife,  they 
have  nothing  more  to  difcufs  with  the  eftablifhment, 
than  with  any  detached  fotiety  like  themfelves. 
As  their  purpofe  is  fimple,  they  find  no  reafon  to 
ftand  apart  from  the  reft  of  the  world  in  airy  thing 
elfe.  Having,  indeed,  avowed  a  ferious  attach- 
ment to  religion,  by  exerting  an  active  choice  in 
the  mode,  they  are  fenubie  that  immoralities 
would  appear  peculiarly  inconfiflent  in  them,  and 
that  in  things  of  a  dubious  nature,  it  is  more  be- 
coming their  characters  to  incline  to  flri&nefs  than 
laxity. 

It  will  probably  be  objected  to  this  idea  of  the 
formation  of  religious  focieties,  that  they  would 
foon  want  zeal  fuificient  to  keep  them  together. 
But,  in  the  firfb   place,  what  in  this  cafe  is  the  de< 


RELIGIOUS     SOCIETIES.  83 

Jtderdhim  P — not  to  increafe  the  numbers  of  blind 
followers  of  a  name  or  a  doctrine,  but  to  provide 
for  the  wants  of  thofe  to  whom  focial  religion  is 
really  an  object  of  fele&ion.  To  fuch  perfons, 
differences  not  absolutely  effential,  will  yet  appear 
of  fome  importance ;  and  as  even  in  things  in- 
different, we  conceive  it  an  eftimable  privilege  to 
exert  a  free  choice,  it  would  feern  not  likely  that 
this  liberty  mould  be  undervalued,  in  a  matter  at 
leall  connected  with  a  thing  of  fupreme  confe- 
quence.  Then,  in  fact,  many  of  thofe  doctrines 
upon  which  feparale  congregations  are  formed, 
are  in  a  high  degree  important,  relating  to  nothing 
lefs  than  the  object  of  divine  worihip,  and  the 
conditions  of  acceptance  in  a  future  ftate.  And 
while  eftablifhed  churches,  and  even  ancient  fects, 
remain  ftationary,  fome  of  thefe  doctrines  '  are 
making  an  accelerated  prcgrefs.  While,  there- 
fore, religion  continues  to  exert  an  influence  over 
the  mind,  and  the  fpirit  of  liberty  retains  its 
activity,  i'c  can  fcarcely  be  fuppofed,  that  a  fuc- 
ceiTion  of  voluntary  fecieties  will  ceafe  to  be 
formed,  adapted  to  the  varying  or  prcgrefiive  ilate 
r:  religious  opinion,  although  they  are  unfup- 
ported  by  the  peculiar  manners  or  interefts  cf  a 
Let.  Peculiarity  of  manners,  though  it  undoubt- 
edly tends  to  draw  ciofer  the  bands  cf  union  in  a 
ty,  yet  offers  an  additional  olfbcle  to  thofe 
who  may  be  inclined  to  enter  it,  and  difpofes  many 
the  more  readily  to  quit  it.     It  has  Hkewife  the  bad 


&i.  LETTER        XI. 

eTccl  of  diverting  the  attention  from  points  of  real 

O  J. 

importance,  to  trifles ;  and  of  narrowing  the  heart, 
by  carrying  into  life  diftinctior.s  only  meant  for  the 
temple.  It  is  always  better  to  refer  cur  actions  to 
one  great  and  decifive  principle,  than  to  many 
fubordinate  ones.  The  exercife  of  private  judg- 
ment in  matters  cf  religion,  may  well  Hand  upon 
its  own  fingle  ground,  without  calling  in  the  aid 
of  petty  concomitants. 

The  caufe  offeparation  has  gained   one  conhder- 
able  advantage  in  the  prefent   age,  which   is,   that 
we   fcarcely  Lear  any    mare    cf   the  Jn  cf  ft 
with  the  appreheniion   cf  which    timid   consciences 
were  formerly  d'ilurhed.      Long  ago,  indeed,   John 
Hales  faid,  in  his  Tra3  or,  Schifm    (never   publi 
however,    in   his  works,    till    1721),   "  wherej 
falfe  or  fufpe&ed  opinions  ar:  made  a  pice::  ■ 
church  liturgy,  he  that  feparates  is   not    the 
math."      The   impoffibuity    of    .'  '.  '  '   r    th's 

charge  agaiuil  a  party  fb  as  that  it  might  not  eafily 
he   retorted,   and    the  futility  of  every  d 
pofed  for  tomprehenfion^   as    it    was  called,    hem   to 
have   made    the   minds    cf  men    eafy    in    tin's 
rcular.      Still  further,  the  fuppefed  fi  1  i  felf  I 
the  opinion  of  many,  been  expunged  from  the    ca- 
talogue ;  for  experience   has  (hewn,    that  the  caufe 
of  religion,  far    from  being  we;  :fe  di- 

vifions   and    fubdivifions    of  its  -g,    has    ac- 

quired  additional  ftrength.      The  more   it    k  made 
a   man's  perfonal    choice,     the    greater   i.iterefl    h$ 


REL'.GlOV  MLS. 

;  i.i  ft j  and  as  fooieties  differ  fr  >m  each  otliet 
modes  andarticle  '  jrouads 

and  fan&ions,   the   main   authority   of    reli   ton    i; 
not  :  ihces. 

i 

in   this 

that     -  ;  i 

11  :s  more  ,-\  •         '/ton* 

:   it  an 

'  ito 
pic, 
b-.it  I  well  !■-.  .  ~\  that  is 

ler. 
With   relpe£t  to  t'i  •  ■  ted  by  fuch  a 

fociety  to  fuperintend  the  buiinefs  a-  :  ~:r- 

fhip,   and  perhaps  of  private  .Am,  I  da 

perceive  that  al- line  of  cort- 

ue  than,  by  all  proper  means,  t 

- 
Their   ftyle    of    manners,    ii 

able,  mud  be  his.     They    will   as  i  to 

find  in  him  the  affectionate  and  the 

agreeable  and  inilruciive   compani  t   he  will 

be  under  no  nee.;,  i  their  favour, 

to  employ  arts  or   compliances   derc  m    a 

I  radler.      His    oiHee     and    ftation 

nothing  n  can    inf  .If 


he  is  dependent,  io  are  all  who  live  by  the  pul        ; 

but  I  fcarcely   ever  knew  an  inftance  in  which  the 

H 


§6  L    fc    T   T    E    R        XI. 

advantages  of  education  and  office  did  not  enable 
a  perfon  in  that  fituation  to  affume  a  liberal  inde- 
pendence of  behaviour,  within  the  limits  of  pru- 
dence and  good  temper.  He  need  not  renounce 
the  world,  though,  like  every  man  of  wifdom  and 
virtue,  he  renounces  its  follies  and  diffipations. 
He  mull,  in  order  to  be  refpectable,  fuftain  his 
character  with  con£ftency  and  decorum,  and  it  is 
a  character  which  demands  fome  peculiar  facri- 
fices;  but  for  thofe  he  is  amply  indemnified,  by  the 
opportunity  of  rifing  above  the  common  level,  and 
taking  his  ftation  with  the  graver  and  weightier 
part  of  fociety.  He  is  not  precluded  from  aiming 
at  perfonal  influence  and  refpect  from  the  commu- 
nity at  large,  by  a  dignified  fuavity  of  manners, 
and  ufeful  and  ornamental  accomplishments. 
Were  not  thefe  objects  within  his  reach,  I  mould, 
as  a  father,  be  very  unwilling  that  a  fon  whom 
I  efteem,  mould  engage  in  the  profeffion. 

Farewel  ] 


(    s7    ) 


LETTER     XII. 


ON     REPLY     IN     CONTROVERSY. 


H< 


OW  far  it  is  advifable  to  anfwer  tlie  charges 
of  an  antagonift    in  controverfy,   is  a   queftion  you 

aJk,  with  reference  to  the  actual  conduct  of  a 
diilinguiihed  perfon  whom  we  both  highly  efteem. 
I  mall  begin  my  reply  with  a  ftory  out  of  the  life 
cf  Melancrhon  by  Camerarius.  That  great  and 
amiable  man  was  the  fubject.  of  much  virulent 
abufe,  as  might  naturally  be  expected  to  fall  upon 
one,  who  in  the  interefiing  bufinefs  of  reform, 
d  a  middle  courfe,  almoft  equally  remote 
from  the  extremes  on  either  part.  When  ilrongly 
urged  by  his  moil  intimate  friends  to  r.ublifh  a 
vindication  of  his  conduct,  "  I  will  anfwer  you, 
(laid  he)  as  my  little  daughter  did  me.  She  had 
one  day  been  fent  en  an  errand,  and  ftaid  much 
longer  than  me  ought  to  have  done.  I  met  her 
in  the  ftreet,  and  faid  to  her,  Now,  child  !  what 
will  you  fay  to  your  mother  when  (he  chides  you 
for  ftaying  fo  long  ?  I  will  fay  nothing,   replied  the 


; 


H2 


88  LETTER       XII. 

What  is  the  inference  from  this  ftory  ?  Is  it  that 
Melandihon  had  really  nothing  to  reply  to  the 
charges  brought  againil  him  ?  The  probability  is, 
that  he  was  confcious  of  being  able  to  fay  nothing 
which  would  produce  any  eifecl:  on  minds  predif- 
pofed  againil  him  ;  for  the  matter  of  accufation 
was  that  prudent  conciliatory  behaviour  which  he 
did  in  reality  approve  and  practife,  and  which  he 
neither  could  nor  would  diiavcw  ;  and  therefore  a 
reply  would  have  been  of  no  avail.  And  this  con- 
.  ion,  in  my  opinion,  leads  to  the  true  rule 
of  conduct,  in  thefe  c. 

A    writer  publifhes    his    fentiments  en  a   contro- 
verted point  in  politics   or  theology,    and   fupports 
bythebeft  arguments  in   his  power.     A  hot- 
headed ch:  fes  on  the  oppofite    fide,    who 
in  print  ftyles  his  notions  or  feditious,  his 
snts    t      ':.!   and    abfurd,    infulls   his  r 
. :    his    fenfe  of  le  ites  to  him 
the  word    motr                Lat   mailer  is  there 
this   for  an   anfwer  :  The   writer  does   not  mean  to 
difavow  his  opinions  becaufe   an  opponent  thinks  ill 
of  them.     His  arguments  are    not   refuted  by    the 
abufe  of  one    who,    perhaps,    from    incapacity    or 
is  utterly  unable  lo   comprehend    them, 
s   fenfe  and    learning  he   has  conftituted  the 
public  his  judges  by  the  act  of  publication,  and  to 
their  judgment  at  large  he  appeals.     His    r\ 
can  only  be  known  to  his  own  heart  ;  and  averting 
them    to  be  good,  will  no  more  convince    his  ene- 


RETLY    IN     CONTJ9LOV&RS*  £<} 

m!es,  than  the  contrary  aftertion  has  con 
his  friends.  If,  therefore,  he  has  obtained  from 
nature  or  cxercife  a  due  command  of  temper,  he 
will  preferve  a  dignified  filence,  till  an  attack  of 
fome  other  kind  fummons  him  to  the  field.  Now 
this  other  kind  muit  be  characterized  by  one  of 
thefe  two  circumflances — the  production  of  new 
and  forcible  arguments  againft  him,  or  a  mifrepre- 
fentation  in  matter  of  fact  of  a  nature  materially 
to  injure  his  character. 

With  refpeft  to  the  firft  iaftance,  a  difputani 
who  honeftly  argues  for  the  fake  of  truth  alone, 
will  either  freely  retract  what  he  cannot  maintain, 
or  will  ftudy  fcr  new  arguments  to  fupport  what 
he  ftill  believes,  nptwithftanding  the  h'ty  of 

the  objections  raifed  againft  h's  mode  of  proving  it. 
But  in  each  of  thefe  cafes  a  reply  is  his  duty  ;  for 
filence  can  proceed  enly  from  difmgenuoufnefs,  or 
from  indolence  The  public  whom  he  addreffed 
have  a  right  to  all  the  fktisfaction  he  can  give  them  ; 
and  the  caufe  at  iffue  muft  not  be  left  to  float  in 
ion,  if  it  be  in  his  power  to  ite  fur- 

ther to  its  determination. 

:hcod  or  mifieprefentation  is  a  perfonal  rea- 
fon  for  a  reply,  and  often  a  very  cogent  one. 
Though  the  laws  aflume  in  Come  points  the  guardi- 
anfhip  of  a  perfen's  reputation,  yet  the  modes  hi 
which  it  may  be  affiled  are  fo  numerous  and  in- 
definite, that  he  mud  in  great  meafure  rely  en  his 
own  protection  ; — and  fiirely 

H  3  ' 


9°  tEfriR     xir. 

ferve  protecting.      The    fagcs   iii   the    heating   art 

have  laid  it  down  as  a   maxim,    "   Nullum   capitis 
vuinus  contemnendum."      The  fage   in   human   life 
might  with  equal  truth  eflahlifh  the  pofition,  That 
no    attack    on    moral    character   is   to   be    flighted. 
Though  proceeding   from   the   moil    infamous   and 
defpicable    of    mankind,     they    are    never    without 
fame  power  of  hurting  ;    and   filence   under  them 
will  pafs,  in  the  eflimation  of  a  great  part  of  the 
world,  for  an  acknowledgment  of  guilt.      If,  there- 
fore, an  unprincipled  antagonist  attempts  to  render 
a  man  odious,  either  by  representing  him  as  faying 
what  he  never  has  faid,    or  by  inventing  perfonal 
flander  or  calumny    againft   him,    it   will  generally 
be  as  prudent  as  it  is  equitable,  to  cite  him  to  the 
bar  of  the  public,  expofe  his  diihoneft  arts  and  ma- 
lignant intentions,  and  with  ftrong  hand  drag  him 
forth   like   Cacus   from  the  midil    of  his  fire    and 
fmoke,  to  light  and  punimment. 

Nor  does  this  advice  concern  the  writer  alone. 
Any  man  upon  whofe  character  an  unjuft  attack  is 
made,  will  do  right  to  vindicate  himfelf,  provided 
the  charge  relate  to  a  matter  of  fact  which  can  be 
brought  to  a  decifive  iiTue.  That  abufe,  indeed, 
which  is  levelled  at  individuals  merely  as  belonging* 
to  a  particular  profeflion  or  party,  and  is  only  an 
inference  from  filch  a  fact,  merits  little  notice, 
however  it  may  bear  upon  moral  character.  Its 
effect  depends  upon  a  general  opinion,  which  an 
iot  alter.     Large  bodies  cf  men  thus 


REPLY     IN     CONTROVERSY.  9* 

eenfured,  may  think  it  worth  their  while  by  public 
declarations  of  their  principles  to  give  the  he  to 
fuch  charges ;  but  for  a  fingle  member  to  do  fo, 
ays  either  unneceflary  or  ufelefs.  He  mud  in 
thofe  points  (land  or  fall  with  his  party.  But  ac- 
cusations which  mark  out  the  individual  as  fuch, 
are  of  a  different  nature.  They  tend  as  much  to 
injure  a  perfon  with  his  friends,  as  to  encourage 
the  malice  of  his  enemies  ;  and  he  rnuft  not  ex- 
pec!  to  be  fupported  agaiafl  them  upon  public 
grounds.  We  live  in  an  age,  in  which  the  viru- 
lence of  party-contention,  and  the  facility  with 
which  (landers  are  propagated,  render  it  equally 
neceffary  to  be  circumfped  in  cur  actions,  and 
fpirited  in  felf-defence.  The  public  is  indeed  juft 
and  generous  when  convinced  ;  but  calumnies  are 
readily  adopted,  and  the  refutation  cf  them  always 
coils  feme  exertion.  A  man  fails  in  the  duty  he 
owes  to  fociety,  as  well  as  to  himfelf,  who, 
through  indolence  or  apathy,  fuffers  malignity  and 
falfehood  to  triumph  in  the  accomplifhment  of 
their  purpofe.  They  mould  be  oppofed  boldly, 
Speedily,  and  openly.  Every  ftep  in  the  conteft 
mould  be  clear  and  decifive  ;  and  principles  mould 
always  be  aimed  at,  however  hedged  in  by  forms 
and  confequence.  Every  men  capable  cf  doing  a 
fecrct  injuftice  is  a  coward.  Ke  will  ftmifle,  equi- 
vocate, and  (brink ;  but   if  "held   by  the  firm  grafp 


.  .ire. 


th  and  courage,  he  cannot  clcrpe  an  i 


Fan 


LETTER     XIII. 


ON     CLASSIFICATION     IN    NATURAL     HISTORY. 


A  AM  very  glad  to  find,  my  dear  fon,  that  you 
receive  Co  much  pleafure  from  the  purfuit  of  Na- 
tural Hiftory.  No  pleafures  are  more  pure,  more 
unmixed,  more  eafily  procurable  ;  and  the  ftudy  of 
nature  is  in  many  refpects  peculiarly  fuited  to  your 
profefiion  and  fituation.  You  do  right  firft  to  fol- 
low it  in  a  practical  way,  making  yourfelf  acquaint- 
ed with  the  appearances  of  objects,  and  ascertain- 
ing their  names  and  places  in  a  fy&em.  But  it  will 
be  ufeful  occasionally  to  interpofe  reflections  on  the 
iludy  in  general,  and  to  take  extended  views  of 
that  economy  of  nature  which  is  one  of  the  ncbleit. 
fubjects  of  contemplation.  In  order  to  lead  ycu 
into  fuch  a  train  of  thought,  I  mall  communicate 
to  you  fome  remarks  on  the  clarification  and  ar- 
rangement of  natural  fubftances,  which  I  wrote 
down  at  a  time  when  thefe  topics  occupied  a  rood 

1  J.  o 

deal  of  my  attention. 

When  a  p:rion  begins  to  examine  the  produc- 
tions of  nature  around  him,  he  will  firft  be  flruok 
with   a   perception    cf  their    infinite    numbei 


ON     CLASSIFICATION.  C,^ 

bom  .   whole  will  feera  to  him  a 

vaft  aff< ..  '  to  all  pofL 

kinds  of  i  Q  every 

nde  an  inextricable  wfldernefs  of  d  But  on 

a  moi  1  attentive  furvey,    lie  will  pre- 

fently  defcry  in  lTs  of  things,    numerous  re- 

femblances     and      <  ,         particulai 

objects,    which   vl-1   dif]  I    -    ,  by   a    prccefs   to 

which  be  is  fcarcely  co::fci^u3,  to  feparate  them 
into  daffes,  and  make  a  kind  of  arrangement  cf 
them  in  bis  mind.  This  firft  rude  c"  Ulncatien 
me  of  the  rrcft  remarkable 
ts;  and  will  only 
mar!  greater  diviilons,  ftiH  leaving 

_:  the  minuter  d;;ferences  which  dif- 
uifh  one  kindred  form  of  being  from  an- 
.:'.      Thus,    the    three    .'  j    (as    they    are 

termed)  of  nature^   will    oon  be  feparated;  the  r:.l- 
vjral   beiivj    cliaracl:er:e:d    from    i:s  inert   and    un- 
-  :    the    V£gstalk    '      l  its    riowlh 
-   c:^.r.^rz  .  tlie  animal  from  the  fipcr- 
In   each  of 
thefe   will   p  cf  Qtly  nate  clivi- 

iicns  ;  as  in  the  animal  creation,  the  feveral  claflea 
pi  quadrupeds,  bkds,  fines,  and  infects;  in  qua- 
d.Tp:ds,  the  qiftincTious  cf  gteat,  fmall,  mild, 
:  ,  s,  r/ramin:voroii3.  and  carnivc  nous.  But  this 
U  of  proceeding  will  for  a  long  time  furriifh 
only  fach  general  ideas  as  fall  very  (ho it  cf  the 
pmpoies  of  methodical    an'  t  ;    and  it 


94  LETTER       XIII. 

not  happen  till  after  accurate  refearches  have  been 
made  into  the  more  intimate  itruc"ture  of  bodies, 
that  marks  are  discovered  fufficiently  numerous  and 
diftincl:  to  identify  genus  and  fpecies. 

But    there    is   another    precefs    of   arrangement, 
equally  natural  that  ccir.es  at  one  ftep  near  to  the 
individual.-      In  the  common  ccurfe  of  life,    every 
perfbn  becomes   familiarly    acquainted  with  certain 
forms  cf  nature,    (o  as  to  have  the  idea   of  them 
ftrongly    impreffed   upon   the    fenfes.     A   thing   cf 
this  kind,    therefore,   ferves  him   as  a  ftandard,    to 
which  he  can  refer  a  variety  of  oilier  objects  in  the 
way  of  companion,  as  being  like  it  in  fome  points, 
and  unlike  it  in  others.     Thus,  when  a  man  habi- 
tually acquainted  with  dogs  firft  fees  a  fox,  he  will 
conceive  of  it  as  a  fmall  dog,    with  a  (harper  nofe 
and  more  buftry  tail  than   ordinary  ;    and  by   thefe 
marks   he  will   defence  it    to   another   man,    who, 
from  his  previous  knowledge  of  the  dog,  will  pro- 
bably recognize  the  fox  whenever  he  meets  with  it. 
In  like   manner,    the  tiger  and   leopard  are  faid  to 
be  animals  cf  the  cat-kind,    and  thence  a  tolerable 
idea  of  their  form  and  manners   is  obtained   before 
feeing  them.      And  combinations  may  be  made  of 
parts   refembling  thofe    cf   objects  already   known, 
by  which  a  new  production  may  be  characterized. 
Thus  we  fay  that  a  plant  has  the  leaf  of  an  oak, 
the  flower  of  a  rofe,  the  fruit  of  a  plum,  the  fcent 
of  a  jeffamine,    &e.      The  dekSis  0f  this  method 
are,  that,  in  the  firft  place,  it  does  not  extend  far 


ON    CLASSIFICATION.  Q* 

enough,  the  fpecies  with  which  perfons  are  com-, 
monly'acquainted,  being  too  few  to  ferve  as  arche- 
types of  any  confiderable  portion  of  the  works  of 
nature  ;  and  fecondly,  that  it  is  inaccurate,  fince 
degrees  of  refemblance  admit  of  every  pofhble  gra- 
dation, and  flrike  different  obfervers  differently. 
It  is,  however,  q.n  an  union  of  the  two  principles 
of  arrangement  above-mentioned,  that  all  fyilems. 
of  clarification  have  been  founded. 

But  before  we  proceed  further,  it  will  be  proper 
to  take  into  confederation  the  ufes  and  purpofes  of 
arrangement.  Thefe  are  principally  two  ;  one,  to 
aid  the  memory  by  laying  up  the  ftores  of  know-< 
ledge  in  a  regular  manner,  and  applying  precife 
determinate  names  to  eveiy  fmgle  object,  fo  me- 
thodized, that  they  may  be  found  when  wanted; 
the  other,  to  afford  a  fummary  connected  view  of 
the  natural  refemblances  and  differences  between 
objects  in  their  moft  important  entities,  exhibit- 
ing the  relations  between  caufes  and  effeiio,  and 
thofe  gradations  of  being  which  conftitute  the  great 
chain  or  fcale  of  exiilence.  It  is  the  latter  only  on 
which  the  philofophy  of  natural  hiftory  de- 
pends. The  former  is  a  mere  matter  of  nomen- 
clature, neceffary,  indeed,  but  as  a  means,  net 
an  end. 

The  perfection  of  arrangement  is  when  thefe 
two  purpofes  are  united  ;  that  is,  v  hen  the  moft 
important  circumftances  in  the  ilruilure  or 
.economy  of    natural    productions,    are    fel I    fi£ 


CjG  LETTER        XIII, 

the  characters  on  which  their  divifiona  and  f. 
divifions  are  founded  ;  and  this  conftitutes  what  is 
called  a  natural  method.  When  this  is  rendered 
complete,  we  can,  not  only,  on  examining  the 
real  fubje^l,  readily  determine  its  place  in  the  fyf- 
tem,  and  confequently  its  name  ;  but  e  ccnverfo, 
on  being  told  the  nam:  and  fyfteflfatic  place  of  the 
fubjecl,  we  can  infer  the  moil  eflential  circum- 
ftances  of  its  nature  and  hiftory.  To  give  an  in- 
llance  of  this  from  Mr.  Pennant' 3  Syiiopjis  of  Birds  : 
— if  I  find  an  unknown  bird,  with   w  tfc    :,  a 

fiat  bill,  and  a  broad  fringed  tongue,    I  trace   it  at 
once  by  thefe  marks  to  the  genus  Duck   in  his  fyf- 
tem,  and  by   carefully    examining   the  dei:r'    dorta 
of  the  feveral   fpecies  in   this  genus,  I  can  difcover 
its   name,  and    learn   all   that  naturalifts  have  faid 
about  it.      On  the  other  hand,  if  I  am  told  that  a 
bird   fo   named    is  of  the  Duck  genus,   I   am  fure, 
firft,  that  it  is  a  water-fowl ;   next,  from  its  webbed 
feet,  that    it    is   a   fwimmer  3  and  then,  from    the 
form  of  its  bill  and  tongue,    that    it    lives     eil 
upon  foft  vegetables,   or  upon  fuch  animal 
it  can    {coop    up,  and  feparate    at   leifure,  but 
upon  living  active  prey.     Here  I  have  a  d 
perception   of  that    adaptation    of    means   to  ends 
which  affords  fo  convincing  a  proof  of  the  agency 
of  a  defigning  caufe  in  the  wonderful  plan  of  crea- 
tion ;   and  I  alio  diiccrn   one  link  cf  that  vail  c 
which  binds    together   the  whole    economy    of  na- 
ture. 


OS    CLASSIFICATION.  97 

But  it  is  not  in  every  part  of  creation  that  this 
perfection  of  arrangement  can  be  obtained*  The 
fpecies  in  fome  claflfes  are  fo  extremely  numerous, 
their  general  properties  are  fo  uniform*  and  their 
peculiar  ones  fo  various  and  minute,  that  v.-e  c  n- 
not  find  characters  in  them  fufficient  to  eft; 
ctTcriminations  at  the  fame  time  precife  and  im- 
portant. This  is  particularly  the  cafe  with  tl  e 
vegetable  kingdom;  and  the  difficulty  of  the  tafk 
has  given  rife  to  numerous  attempts  in  their  claiS- 
fication,  upon  different  principles.  What  is  abso- 
lutely necelfary  to  the  purpofes  of  utility,  is  tie 
eftablifhment  of  diviiions  and  fubdivifions,  di'l'n- 
gifhed  by  marks  at  the  fame  time  liable,  obvioi  s, 
and  numerous  ;  otherwife  the  votary  of  this  p1ea- 
iing  ftudy  may  range  over  the  world  of  vegetation, 
like  Eneas  in  fearch  of  his  golden  branch,  without 
being  able,  unlefs  heaven  directed,  to  identify  any 
one  object  of  which  he  may  have  heard  or  rear. 
This,  however,  c?.n  only  be  effected  by  an  artificial 
fyftem,  that  is,  one,  the  diftinctions  of  which  a:e 
taken  from  circumftances  f elected  for  the  purpdfe 
of  arrangement  only,  and  not  on  account  of  their 
relative  importance.  The  thing  wanted  is  a  na- 
tural alphabet,  compofed  of  a  number  of  letter:, 
unmeaning,  perhaps,  of  themf elves,  but  capab?e, 
by  a  vafl  variety  of  combinations,  of  cEftingu'fh- 
ing  with  perfect  precision  all  the  tribes,  families, 
and  individuals  of  that  immenfe  nation  from  each 
other. 

I 


9$  LETTER      Xir. 

All  modern  botaniils  agree,  that  it  is  in  the  parts 
of  fructification  that  diftinctive  marks  for  the  pur- 
pofe  of  arrangement  are  to  be  found  in  vegetables. 
The  great  number  and  variety  of  thefe  afford,  by- 
means  of  combination,  an  almoil  inexhauftible 
fund  of  differences,  accommodated  to  the  feveral 
orders  of  divifion  and  fubdivifion  on  which  accu- 
racy of  method  depends.  It  is  upon  thefe,  you 
know,  that  Linnseus  has  founded  a  fyftem,  which 
its  merit  has  brought  into  general  ufe  ;  and  which 
would  want  little  of  abfolute  perfection,  as  an  arti- 
ficial one,  if  it  were  as  uniform  in  its  application, 
as  it  is  regular  in  its  principles.  But  it  labours 
under  a  defect  from  which  no  artificial  arrange- 
ment can  free  itfelf ;  which  is,  that  it  frequently 
thwarts  that  difbihution  into  families,  which  na- 
ture has  pointed  out  by  refemblances  fo  ftrong,  as 
to  render  feparation  a  violence  fcarcely  tolerable  ; 
fo  that  either  his  principles  muff  be  •  facrificed,  or 
a  very  obvious  deformity  incurred  by  adhering  to 
it.  In  thefe  emergencies,  the  conduct  of  the  au- 
thor has  not  been  uniform  ;  fometimes  he  has 
ilood  firm  ;  oftener  he  has  yielded.  In  the  latter 
cafe,  fpecies,  in  order  to  keep  to  their  genera,  are 
placed  under  claffes  and  orders  to  which  they  do 
not  belong  ;  fo  that  if  a  learner  unfortunately  lights 
upon  them  before  he  ha>;  .  dge  of 

the  genus,  he  may  hunt  through  the  whole  fyftem 
before  he  can  inveftigate  them.  It  is  as  it,  in  a 
dictionary,  a    word  beginning  with    the  letter  A 


ON     CLASSIFICATION.  99 

mould  be  placed  along  with  others  of  fimilar  ligni- 
fication  under    D.      The  caufe    of  this  def 
mini."  are  has   not  attached  fo  much 

importance  to  the  circumftances  on  which  his 
.  .  /  and  fecondary  di villous  are  founded,  as 
.  ke  them  uniform  in  productions  formed  in 
.  ier  the  fame  model.  And,  indeed, 
through  the  whole  of  the  Linnaean  clafiifications, 
in  all  the  kingdoms  of  nature,  there  runs  the  fame 
attention  to  minute  circumftances,  in  quell  of  dif- 
tmclive  marks,  which  throws  an  air  of  littlenefs 
over  his  fyftems,  and  gives  them  the  praife  rather 
of  ingenious  invention,  than  of  coincidence  with 
the  fublime  plans  of  creation.  You  will,  I  hope, 
know  how  to  prize  them  for  their  utility  in  en- 
abling you  to  acquire  the  knowledge  of  nature, 
without  miftaking  an  acquaintance  with  them  for 
that  knowle 

Farewel  ! 


(        100       ) 


LETTER    XIV. 


ON    BUPF0M7S     NATURAL     HISTORY* 


BEAR    SON, 

IN  my  former  letter  on  the  fubjecl  cf  Natural 
Hulory,  I  fiightly  characterized  the  great  Majier 
ef  Ai  rangemeni.  At  preferit  I  mean  to  commur 
nicate  to  you  a  few  reflexions  en  a  writer  who 
lly  high  rank  in  a  directly  oppofite 
-  treating  thefe  fubjects,  the  iHufhrious  Count 
de  Birfjln. 

The  works  of  this,  naturalift  and  philofopher, 
Unrivalled  in  descriptive  eloquence,  and  filled  with 
curious  and  exact  details  of  matter  cf  fact,  exhi- 
bit alfo  continual  marks  of  that  difpofition  to  theo- 
rize which  is  almoft  inseparable  from  genius.  Not 
fatisfied  with  beiag  the  fecreiary,  he  afTumes  the 
cilice  of  legiflator  of  nature  ;  and  frequently  quits 
the  humbler  tafk  of  painting  things  as  they  are, 
for  the  loftier  purpofe  of  fpeculating  how  they  have 
been  and  may  be.  One  leading  principle  runs 
through  all  his  difcufGons  of  this  kind ; — a  difpo- 


buffon's  natural   history.  ioi 

fition  to  reduce  as  much  as  pcfllble  the  number  of 
/pedes,  by  fuppofing  perpetual  varietUi  generated 
by  climate,  domeitication,  and  other  incidental 
caufes.  He  is  ever  in  fearch  of  the  original  Jtoek 
from  whence  a  number  of  kindred  fpecies  have 
proceeded  ;  and  largely  indulges  himfelf  in  fuppo- 
fitions  refpecting  the  means  by  which  all  the  fhades 
and  ramhications  of  difference  have  been  produced, 
often  highly  ingenious,  but  often,  too,  in  my  opi- 
nion, perfectly  gratuitous  and  delufory. 

This  deduction  of  numerous  prefent  forms  of 
nature  from  a  few  original  archetypes,  does  net 
appear  to  me,  even  a  priori,  a  very  probable  hypo- 
thecs. All  the  parts  of  nature  have  a  mutual 
relation  to,  and  dependence  on,  each  other.  If  it 
be  admitted  that  a  large  tract,  of  country  has  long 
exiiled  in  the  form  of  folid  land,  it  mull  have  been 
c:o:hed  with  vegetables  accommodated  to  each  foil 
and  fituation.  Thefe  muft  have  afforded  food  and 
fiirlter  to  the  rn/e3  race,  with  which  vegetables  are 
•z-^ry  where  found  to  (warm.  Their  rrmitiplicatxri 
to  a  noxious  excefs,  mud  have  been  checked  by 
the  numerous  birds  which  derive  their  chief  fub- 
fileace  from  them.  Quadrupeds,  though  lefs 
clofely  connected  with  the  other  clafTes  of  creation, 
vet  muft  be  fuppofed  to  have  an  appropriate  pb.ee, 
and  may  reafbnably  be  imagined  to  have  exiiled 
wherever  their  exiilence  was  confonant  to  the 
general  arrangement  of  things,  We  view,  with* 
i  rprife,  in  regions  very  ciilant  frem  our  own, 
I  * 


102  LETTER       \'If. 

all  this  general  order  of  nature  exifting,  yet  rrnde 
up  of  fpecies  fo  different  from  ours  in  the  different 
claffes,  thftt  we  mull  neceflarily  refer  them  to  a 
diftinft  origin.  Is  it  a  greater  wonder  that  other 
fpecies  fhould  be  formed  upon  a  model  nearly  re- 
fembling  curs?  After  having  gazed  with  admira- 
tion at  the  Paradife-birds  in  an  Afiatic  foreft,  or 
the  Toncans  in  an  American  one,  and  recognifed 
the  creative  power  that  originally  placed  them  there, 
(hall  we  perplex  ourfelves  with  endeavouring  to 
account  hew  the  thrufhes,  pigeons,  and  finches, 
could  get  there,  and  by  what  means,  with  a  gene- 
ral fimilitude  to  thofe  tribes  as  they  exift  with  us, 
the  variations  which  discriminate  them  fhould  have 
been  produced. 

A  decided  purpofe  of  what  we  call  Nature,  is  to 
give  birth  to  variety  ;  and,  according  to  a  remark 
of  Buffon  himfelf,  whatever  can  exift  feems  actu- 
ally to  exift.  She  fports  a  thoufand  ways  in  colour, 
maps  and  proportion,  keeping  only  within  the 
bounds  neceffary  to  fecure  the  great  purpofes  of 
continuing  and  propagating  exiftence.  Why  then 
flic  aid  migration  be  called  in  to  fame  an  imagined 
genealogy  of  kindred  tribes,  which  in  one  country 
as  well  as  in  another,  ferve  to  fill  up  the  great  plan 
of  being  ?  In  the  vegetable  kingdom,  wher  ,  as 
migration  cannot  have  taken  place,  except  in  cul- 
tivated plants,  all  variations  in  others  mujft  have 
been  original,  fcarcely  an  inftance  con  be  found  of 
perfectly  fimilar  ipicies  exifting  in  the   two  great 


buffon's  natural   history.  103 

I       ;  .ents,   even  where  the    generical  refen.blances 
are  moft    flriking.      But   fo  prepofieffed  is    BufFon 
againfl   the   notion  of    the    original  formation    of 
refembling  fpecies   of  animals  m  diftant  parts 
of  the  world,   that  where  he  cannot  deny  their  pre- 
sence, and  is   unable  to  conceive   a  natural 
.tion,  he   frequently  invents   the   moil  unlikely 
fuppofition  of  their  conveyance  by  men  ;  and,   on 
the  other  hand,    he  as    frequently   rejects,   without 
reafon    or   authority,    the   ocular  teflimony  of  tra- 
vellers  to  their  being  found  in   parts  of  the  world 
where  he  does  not  choofe  to  admit  them. 

Qi  the   means  by  which  changes  in  original  fpe- 
cies may  be  fuppofed  to  be   effected,  the  principal 
are   climate  and   domeftication.     That  both    of  thefe 
are    capable   of  producing    confiderable  effects,   we 
can   fcarcely  doubt ;    and  carefully   to  enquire  into 
thefe*  and  from  a    feries   of  eftablifhed   facts  to  de- 
a  fcientific  theory   of  this  important  part  of 
the  animal  economy,   would  be  a  mod  valuable  ad- 
dition to  phyfiology.      But  to  employ  them  in  the 
explanation   of  perplexing    facts,     at    random    and 
without    any    proper    clue    of    known    caufes    and 
;    is    rather     to    propagate    eiror   than    true 
\     Yet  this  M.  de  Buifon  perpetually  does, 
an  A   more    efpecially    with   regard   to   domeftication* 
ir  by  this  vague  term  he  underftands  fueh  a 
[   fubje&ion   and  fubferyiency  to  man    as  we 
fee  in  a   horfe,    and  the    dog;  or   fuch  a    lax    con- 
nexion with  him  as   fubiiits   ii\   the    cat  and     the 


104  LETTER       XIV; 

pigeon,  there  is  fcarcely  a  change  in  form  and  diC- 
pofition   which  he  does  not   afcrite  to  it,  as  hypo- 
thefis  may  require.      It  can   ennoble  or  debafe,   en- 
large  or   diminifh,  ftrengthen    or   enfeeble,    jull  as 
fuits  the  prefent  occafion.      It  has  given  the  camel 
his  bunches  and   callonties,  and  has   made  the  horfe 
Ileek  and  Fine-limbed.      It   has  created  all  the   va- 
rieties of  fhape,    fize,  and    inftinct,  in    the   family 
of  dogs,   from  the  lap-dog  to  the  mafciff,   from  the 
greyhound   to  the   fpaniel.      It  operates  even  upon 
the    free   winged   tribes ;     and   contaminates   by    a 
touch   thofe   who  only  approach   it  at  a    diftance. 
To  deny   the  great  effect,  of  Uniting  and  contrafting 
breeds,    of  feeding,    houfmg,    and    exercifing    the 
animals    which  man    fclecls  for  his    particular   life, 
would  be  to   betray  grofs  ignorance    or    prejudice. 
But,  on   the   other  hand,   to   extend  the  operation 
cf   known   caufes  beyond  all  bounds   of   proof  or 
analogy,  and  to   apply  iv?rds    for    the    purpofe   of 
argume.it,    where   the    things   are  totally   difllmilar, 
is  to  level  all    diilinclion    between    imagination  and 
reafon. 

If  doraeftication  be  ufed  as  a  general  term  to 
ixprefs  every  aiTociatien  between  man  and  animals, 
it  is  obvious  that  to  reafon  with  any  accuracy  en 
fe&Sj  it  muft  be  divided  into  different  ftages* 
The  firft  is  that  in  which  they  are  merely  fid  un- 
confiaed  ;  man  repaying  himielf  for  this  care  by 
the  opportunity  cf  making  prize  cf  them  more 
eanly    when    he     wants   then}.     Wild   raoLi:3   an  J 


BUFFO  N^fi     NATURAL     HISTORY.  10? 

pheafants  are  in  this  degree  of  dependence  on  mar.. 
It  is  but  a  little  flep  beyond  this  to  provide  I 
with  a  detached  lodging,  as  pigeons  in  a  dove- 
cote, cr  even  to  confine  them  within  bounds, 
provided  an  ample  range  be  allowed  them,  as  deer 
in  a  park-  In  all  thefe  cafes  no  other  changes  in 
them  can  be  reafonably  fuppofed,  than  fome  dimi- 
nution of  their  natural  fagacity  and  active  powers, 
owing  to  the  greater  eafe  they  find  in  fubfifting, 
and  perhaps,  an  improvement  in  fize  and  bulk  in 
the  individuals  from  their  being  better  fed.  A  far- 
ther itage  is  that  of  animals  kept  in  the  fold  and 
the  yard,  whofe  whole  fubftftence  and  protection 
depend  on  man,  and  who  live  with  him  and  with 
the:.-  fellow-fubjeet-S  in  a  ftate  of  fbe'ety,  but  with- 
put  constraint.  This  is  the  condition  of  demeftic 
fowl,  and  fwine.  Among  tljefe,  varieties  of  fize 
and  colour  begin  to  (hew  themfelves  ;  which, 
however,  are  probably  owing  not  limply  to  their 
jlomeflication,  but  to  the  contrivance  of  men,  in 
felecling  peculiar  individuals,  or  importing  forejgn 
varieties,  for  the  purpofe  of  propagating  the  breed  ; 
for  without  this  care,  an  uniformity  foon  cemes  to 
prevail,  with  a  fet  of  qualities,  derived  rather  from 
climate,  than  from  other  circumflances. 

The  mod  complete  flage  of  domefr.ication  is 
that  of  dogs  and  of  beafts  of  burden.  Thefe  are 
trained  up  to  be  the  fervants  or  companions  of  man  t 
and  their  natural  qualities  are  all  directed  to  this 
purpofe.     They  live  a  life  of  perpetual  conflraint. 


lo6 


LETTER.       XIV. 


To  inftincl:  is  fubftituted  habit ;  to  native  wants  and 
defires,  the  will  of  a  mailer.  Their  food,  their 
Eng,  their  exercife,  the  propagation  of  their 
fpecies,  are  all  fubjeft  to  artificial  rules.  By  thefe* 
Variations  in  fize,  fhape,  colour,  and  faculties  of 
all  kinds,  are  carried  to  their  utmoft  extent.  But 
m  order  to  keep  up  to  any  given  ftandard,  a  con- 
tinued attention  and  fuperintendence  is  neceffary  ; 
for  all  thefe  acquired  variations  are  merely  indi- 
vidual, or  at  leaft  temporary,  and  the  fpecies  hay 
a  perpetual  tendency  to  relapfe  to  its  natural  model. 
From  this  principle,  which  I  believe  is  univerfal, 
it  appears  an  error  to  aflign  a  remote  domeftica- 
tion  of  progenitors,  as  the  caufe  of  fubfifting  va- 
rieties in  wild  animals  ;  as  it  is  likewife  probably 
an  error  to  impute  any  confiderable  alterations  to 
the  very  imperfect  domeilicity  in  the  ftages  firft 
defcribed. 

No  writer  in  Natural  Hiflory  dwells  fo  much  as 
Buffon  on  the  manners,  and  what  may  be  called 
the  moral  character  of  animals.  Thefe  specula- 
tions are  extremely  curious  and  entertaining  ; 
though  you  will  readily  conceive  that  in  a  writer 
cf  a  warm  imagination  and  lively  feelings  they 
will  be  very  apt  to  become  fanciful  and  delufory. 
Thofe  of  Biiffon  will  probably  often  appear  to  you 
to  deferve  this  character ;  though  on  the  other 
hand  it  rauft  be  acknowledged  in  their  favour, 
that  his  perfonal  obfervations  have  in  many  in- 
itances  been  conducted  with  the  moft  patient  and 


BUFFON  S    NATURAL     HISTORY.  I07 

minute  attentions ;  and  certainly  very  few  writer* 
have  poffefled  equal  advantages  with  himfelf.  He 
warns  his  readers  againfl  falling  into  the  miftrke 
of  attributing  to  animals  the  paflions  and  fenti- 
ments  of  men  ;  yet  I  cannot  fay,  that  he  always 
avoido    it    himfelf.     On  the   v  ffon    is  an 

author  whom  all  may  read  with  pleafure,  but  whom 
none  but  the  informed  and  judicious  can  read  with 
unmixed  improvement. 

Farewel  I 


(     *o8  ) 


LETTER     XV. 


ON    ORNAMENTAL    GARDENING, 


DEAR    SON, 

JlN  one  of  my  former  letters  I  hinted  a  future  ap- 
plication of  the  conilderations  on  nature  and  art 
and  the  love  of  novelty,  to  another  of  the  fine 
arts  ;  and  I  mean  now  to  perform  my  promife  in 
fome  remarks  on  Ornamental  Gardening. 

There  is  nothing  in  which  the  Englifh  tafte  more 
triumphs,  than  in  the  change  it  has  effected  in  the 
whole  fyfcem  of  this  art  ;  a  change  which  for 
more  than  half  a  century  has  been  gradually 
taking  place,  and  may  now  be  faid  in  this  country 
to  be  complete.  This  confiils  in  entirely  banifhing 
almoft  every  thing  which  conftituted  the  artifice 
and  contrivance  of  ancient  gardening,  and  in  their 
{lead  fubftituting  a  plan  of  embellifhed  nature, 
imitative  of  the.  fcenery  of  real  h.ndCcipe,  and  of 
which  the  fundamental  law  is  to  exclude  every  ap- 
pearance of  regularity.  You  have  feen,  I  dcuht 
not  with  pleafure    and    admiration,    feme    cf  the 


ORNAMENTAL    GARDENING.  IOO, 

fineft  creations  of  this  kind.  To  you  they  had  all 
the  graces  of  novelty  ;  and  viewing  them  as  a  tran- 
sient fpe&ator,  without  the  comparifon  of  a  dif- 
ferent model  in  your  mind,  you  have  perhaps  im- 
plicitly admitted  the  principles  on  which  the  new 
fyilem  has  obtained  fo  univerfal  a  preference  to 
the  old.  Yet,  on  reflection,  you  will  readily  per- 
ceive the  great  mare  fafhion  muft  have  had  in  fuch 
a  general  alteration  of  tafle  ;  and  you  may  be  in- 
clined to  examine  the  matter  a  little  more  clofely, 
not  for  the  purpofe  of  knowing  whether  you  ouglrt 
to  have  been  pleafed  with  what  you  faw — for  we 
ought  always  to  be  pleafed  when  we  innocently  can 
— but  whether  fomething  very  different  might  not 
pleafe  as  much,  or  more.  Let  us  then  enter  upon 
a  difquifition  of  this  kind. 

The  efTential  idea  of  a  garden^  as  it  has  exifled 
in  all  ages  and  countries,_is  that  of  a  place,  where, 
by  the  aid  of  culture,  vegetable  productions  may 
be  reared,  more  excellent  in  kind,  and  more 
pleafmg  in  diftribution,  than  the  ordinary  growth 
of  nature.  Even  in  the  moil  genial  climates,  it 
was  found  that  flowers  and  fruits  would  be  much 
improved  by  care  and  f election  ;  that  a  number  of 
the  nneft  plants,  greatly  beyond  the  natural  variety 
of  any  diflrict,  might  be  accumulated  in  one  fpot, 
and  cleared  of  all  mixture  with  the  noxious  and 
unfu  htly  ;  while  by  fome  artifice  of  arrangement, 
they  might  be  preiented  with  mere  advantage  to 
the  eye,  and  formed  into  pleafmg  fpc-ctacles  ci 
K 


110  LETTER        XV. 

novelty.  In  hot  countries,  the  delicious  luxury  of 
cooling  fhades  and  perpetual  verdure  might  be  en- 
joyed to  far  greater  perfection  in  regular  walks,  be- 
neath trees  fele&ed  for  beauty  and  fragrance,  and 
bordered  by  rills  which  the  hand  of  art  had  di- 
rected, than  in  the  wild  foreft,  entangled  with 
brakes,  and  rendered  impaffable  by  monuTes.  In 
cold  and  changeable  climates,  the  fhelter  of  walls 
and  hedges  was  abfolutely  requifite  for  the  prefer- 
vation  of  delicate  vegetables,  and  during  a  con- 
siderable part  of  the  year  was  agreeable  to  the 
perfon  who  wifhed  to  furvey  their  beauties. 

No  pleafure  derived  from  art  has  been  fo  uni- 
verfal  as  that  taken  in  gardens.  This,  in  the  firfl 
place,  was  owing  to  the  union  of  fimple  gratifica- 
tions they  afforded  ;  not  fewer  than  four  of  the 
fenfes,  the  tafte,  fmeU,  fight,  and  feeling,  being 
moil  agreeably  affected  by  horticulture.  And  if 
the  refinements  of  ornamental  gardening  have  ex- 
cluded the  objects  of  the  firil  of  thefe,  it  has 
been  only  to  enjoy  the  reft  in  a  move  exquifite  de- 
cree. For  a  garden,  therefore,  to  be  fragrant, 
gay,  and  refrefning,  is  as  efTential,  as  for  a  1  cufe 
to  afford  fnelter  againft  the  inclemency  cf  the  fea- 
fons,  But  the  combination  of  different  pleafmg 
forms  into  groups  and  competitions  of  novelty  and 
beauty,  is  what  Las  given  the  art  of  gardening  a 
place  among  the  finer  inventions  of  genius.  And 
in  iudo-inrr  of  the  different  ftyles  of  ornamental 
gardening,  we    are    to   endeavour  to    eifecver  the 


ORNAMENTAL     GARDENING.  m 

principles  bed  adapted    to   produce  happy   effe&a 
of  this  kind. 

Formerly,  the  pleafure -garden  was  always  con- 
fidercd  as  an  appendage  to  the  houfe  ;  its  plan  and 
decorations  were  therefore  a  fubcrdinate  branch  of 
architecture.  That  it  fnould  have  been  fo  regarded, 
was  very  natural.  To  enjoy  the  pkafares  of  a 
garden  to  advantage,  it  was  necelfary  that  they 
fnould  be  near.  Its  fragrance  was  received  into 
the  apartments  of  the  houfe ;  its  walks  invited 
even  the  indolent  to  faunter  in  the  fun  or  repofe 
under  the  fnade  ;  and  its  gay  forms  and  colours 
feafled  the  eye  with  variety  of  beauty  within  the 
fphere  of  diilinft  vilion.  Its  flights  of  iteps,  walls, 
porticos,  and  terraces,  gave  the  architect  an  op- 
portunity of  gradually  letting  down  the  maiTy 
height  of  his  main  edifice,  and  (hading  off  lTone 
into  verdure.  That  fornething  of  this  kind  is 
wanted  by  the  eye,  will,  I  think,  be  acknowledged 
by  every  unprejudiced  obferver  at  the  firit  view  of 
a  modern  manuon,  ruing  unfuftained  from  the 
mid  it  of  a  naked  lawn.  Tixus  reju7urify  was  a 
fundamental  idea  in  planning  a  garden ;  and  in- 
flead  of  any  endeavour  to  make  it  referable  a  na- 
tural fcene,  every  contrivance  was  ufed  to  produce 
artificial  effects  with  the  materials  of  nature.  I 
can  fcarcely  admit,  however-*  that  the  leading 
principle  of  the  art  was, 

To  form  with  verdure  whaL  the  builder  fcrrr/d 
With  ftone ; 

K    2 


H2  LETTER       XV. 

for  although  trees  cut  into  fhapes,  and  hedges 
fafhioned  like  walk,  have  cccafionally  been  intro- 
duced as  objects  of  vulgar  admiration,  yet  better 
taite  h?s  rather  aimed  at  producing  novelties  more 
confonant  to  the  effential  character  of  garden  fce- 
nery.  Of  feme  of  thefe,  nature  herfelf  may  be 
laid  to  have  afforded  the  rude  iketcb.  Thus,  a 
woodbine  running  from  tree  to  tree,  and  encircling 
the  tGps  of  bumes,  formed  a  fort  of  flowering 
canopy,  which  agreeably  meltered  the  wanderer 
from  fun  and  Riower.  Art  caught  the  idea,  and 
fafhioned  an  arlovr  or  ireUl&ge,  the  regular  frame- 
work of  which  directed  the  rambling  fprays  to 
weave  an  impenetrable  covering,  at  the  fame  time 
commodious  and  free.  Thus,  the  velvet  carpeting 
of  the  turfy  down,  plcafi ng  to  the  eye  and  foft  to 
the  feet,  was  transferred  to  the  "  dry  frnooth- 
Ihaven  green."  The  advantageous  elevation  of  the 
riling  bank,  was  copied  in  a  terrace.  The  fhady 
walk  between  lofty  trees  in  a  natural  wood,  was 
improved  into  the  ftraight  clear  avenue;  and  the 
cafual  arcades  of  intertwined  thickets,  fuggefled 
the  clofe  wall:  overarched  by  bending  hazels. 
Walks  of  gravel  or  grafs,  laid  down  by  line  and 
rule,  interfering  flower-beds  and  mrubberies  o£ 
regular  and  perhaps  fanciful  forms,  not  only  ccr- 
refponded  with  the  general  regularity  of  the  outline 
by  which  the  garden  was  bounded,  but  amufed  by 
perfpeclive  effeds.  Water  fpouted  up  in  a  jet 
d'eau  was  a  novelty,   and  certainly  a  very  elegaajt 


ORNAMENTAL    GARDENING.  11$ 

one.  The  bafon  and  long  canal  gave  new  ideas 
of  liquid  extenfion.  Ornamental  buildings,  fta- 
tues,  urns,  and  vafes,  intermixed  with  fcenes  of 
verdure  and  folitude,  pleafed  by  the  contrail  they 
afforded  to  fimilar  works  of  art  in  the  ftreets  and 
fquares  of  a  city.  A  beautiful  plant  {hooting  from 
the  midil  of  rich  carving:,  over  -which  it  threw  its 
eafy  foliage,  had  furcly  as  good  a  right  to  admira- 
tion, as  the  imitation  of  it  in  a  Corinthian  capital. 

Thefe,  and  a  variety  of  other  inventions  which 
compofed  the  enchanted  gardens  of  France  and 
Italy,  produced  in  a  high  degree  the  general  refult 
of  furprife.  The  garden  was  as  much  a  creation 
of  art,  as  the  palace  to  which  it  belonged  ;  and  in 
both,  after  the  purpofes  of  utility  were  anfwered 
(by  which,  in  the  garden,  I  mean  the  fimple  gra- 
tifications cf  the  fenfes  afforded  by  the  cultivation 
of  vegetables)  the  remainder  was  addreffed  to  the 
Lve  of  novelty.  And  as  it  is  the  chara&eriftic  of 
nature  in  all  her  works,  to  fhun  regularity,  fo 
when  art  attempted  to  produce  novelty,  regularity 
of  difpofition  was  the  firft  thing  thought  of.  The 
fame  difference  that  exifts  between  the  rocky  cave 
or  woodland  med,  and  an  edifice  of  Rone  cr  tim- 
ber, was  conceived  to  difthiguilh  the  flowery  mea- 
dow or  thicket,  from  the  cultured  garden.  This 
idea  was  fo  obvious,  that  I  think  it  wants  no  de- 
fence; but  we  are  now  to  confider  whether  the 
late  refinement  of  bani/hing  all  regularity,  and 
employing  art  only  to  produce  a  copy  cf  betmtil  1 
K3 


1*4  L   E  T  T  E   R      X7. 

nature,  be  capable  of  yielding,  on  the  whole,    « 
greater  degree  of  pleafure. 

As  an  objection  to  the  old  flyle  it  has  been  made 
a  kind  of  univerfal  maxim,  "  That  the  appear- 
ance of  art  always  difgufts  ;"  but  I  do  not  difco- 
ver  upon  what  principle  this  is  founded.  The 
footfteps  of  art  indicate  invention,  induilry, 
order — they  are  the  footfteps  of  man.  In  moil 
■works  of  the  artift  they  cannot  be  concealed  ;  and 
the  very  endeavour  to  conceal  them  is  fuch  an  ex- 
ertion of  art  as  muft  difcover  itfelf.  If  then,  it 
is  intended  by  the  contrivances  of  modern  garden- 
ing to  delude  the  fpe&ator  with  an  idea  that  the 
fcenes  he  beholds  are  really  natural,  it  is  certain 
that  the  attempt  will  not  fucceed.  Nor,  indeed, 
can  the  owner  of  the  coftly  and  laboured  plan  ever 
wifn  it  to  fucceed.  The  pride  of  art  and  of  opu- 
lence will  not  fufFer  this  wifn.  Yet  many  of  the 
rules  of  tafle  feem  to  have  no  other  foundation 
than  to  fofter  fuch  an  illufion.  When  the  Poet  of 
.the  Engli/h  Garden  thinks  it  hecefiary  to  give  a 
long  receipt  in  verfe  how  to  make  green  paint,  for 
the  purpofe  of  rendering  mvifible  the  rails  which 
are  to  feparate  the  pallure  from  the  lawn,  we  may 
be  permitted  to.  regret  that  either  the  poet  or  the 
painter  mould  employ  their  art  on  an  object  fo  tri- 
vial. I  am  fenfible,  indeed,  that  in  this  cafe  pride 
finds  a  gratification  from  an  artifice  which  is  to 
deceive  the  fpeclator  into  a  belief,  that  the  ex- 
tent of  its  pofleiiious  are  only  terminated  by   tlic 


ORNAMENTAL    GARD     NIN(3.  «  '  $ 

diftant  horizon.  This  is  with  many  the  true  in- 
terpretation of  the  precept,  to  "  call  in  the  coun- 
try"— to  make  it  pafs  for  their  own. 

13  ut  we  will  quit  the  deceptions  of  modern  gar- 
dening, and  fairly  compare  it  with  the  ancient, 
with  refpeel  to  the  beauties  they  are  both  capable 
cf  producing.  The  free  graces  of  nature,  it  is 
faid,  and  with  juftice,  yield  a  perpetual  fund  of 
variety ;  while  the  regularity  of  art  cannot  avoid 
a  conftant  tendency  to  a  tirefome  uniformity. 
Whatever,  therefore,  there  be  of  novelty  in  the 
lingular  fcenery  of  an  artificial  garden,  it  is  foon 
exhaufted  ;  whereas  the  infinite  diverfity  of  a  na- 
tural landfcape  prefents  an  inexhauflible  ftore  of 
new  forms.  It  is  added,  that  the  forms  of  nature 
are  intrinfically  more  beautiful  than  thofe  of  art ; 
that  the  flowing  ftrokes  of  the  former,  compared 
with  the  ftraight  lines  and  (harp  angles  of  the 
latter,  conftitute  the  efiential  diflmction  between 
grace  and  ftnfnefs.  Even  moral  ideas  are  brought 
in  to  decide  the  preference  ;  and  a  tafbe  for  nature 
is  faid  to  be  equivalent  to  a  love  of  liberty  and 
truth  ;  while  the  votaries  of  art  are  pronounced 
fiaves  to  formality  and  conftraint.  As  I  think 
there  are  few  more  impaiTioned  admirers  of  nature 
in  all  her  forms  than  nryfelf,  I  will  venture  to 
refer  to  my  own  feelings  on  the  occafion.  Thefe 
ii  form  me,  that  the  pleafures  to  be  derived  from 
3  fcenery  of  a  fine  country,  are,  indeed, 
fuperior   to    any   which   art    caa   beftcw.     Arcbi- 


uS 


LETTER      XV. 


te&ure,    painting,  gardening,  all  fink   to  toys  be- 
fore them.     But  the  comparifon  is  not  between  a 
landscape  and  a  garden,  but   between  one  ftyle  of 
gardening  and  another ;  and  conceiving  myfelf  to 
refide  in  the  midft  of    natural  beauties,   which   I 
may  not  at  all  times  be  able  or  difpofed  to  enjoy, 
I  confider  what  fupplemental  pleafures   can  beft   nil 
up  the    vacancy.      In   this    view,    a    garden,   con- 
reded  with    the  houfe,  lying  direftly   beneath  the 
eye,  presenting  forms   novel  from  their   regularity, 
and  rich  in  artificial    ornament,    offering   choice    of 
fun   and   (hade,    of    warmth  and    coolnefs,    as  the 
feafon    may    require,    and   gradually  fubfiding  into 
the  uncultured  wildnefs  of  nature — ^oes    in   reality 
feem  preferable  to  an   imitation  of  thofe  very  fcenes 
with  which     I     fuppofe     myfelf    already    fatiated. 
This   imitation,   if  it  be  in  a  large  ftyle,  is   indeed 
the  thing  itfelf.     To    roll  a  river    through    a  new 
channel,  to    fpread    out  a    lake,     raife    mountains, 
fcoop  out   vales,  and  plant   forefts,    is   to  create  a 
country— a   noble  "effort,    certainly,     in   thofe   who 
have   compafs  and  fortune  fufficient    for  the    pur- 
pofe,  and   who  inhabit   a  diftrict    fcantily  provided 
with  natural  charms.      But  this,  in   my  idea,   is   a 
flight  beyond  gardening  ;  and  if  attempted  in   the 
limits  of  a    few   acres,  produces   only  laboured  lit- 
tlenefs.     The  tumbling   rills  of  the  Leafowes  were 
fuch   miniature  cafcades,  that   they  appeared  more 
like  fta^e  fcenery  than  cbjecls    of  romantic  nature. 
And  the  level   la<wn  formed    cut   of  three  or    fcur 


ORNAMENTAL    GARDENING.  1  I  7 

pafture  fields,  and  dotted  with  clumps  of  half  a 
dozen  dwarfifh  trees,  while  it  is  perfectly  effica- 
cious in  communicating  to  a  houfe  the  cold  com- 
fortlefs  fenfation  of  un  flickered  nakednefs,  can 
excite  no  image  of  the  grandeur  of  a  wide  ex- 
panded plain. 

I  mould  perhaps  venture  to  fugged  an  union  of 
fome  kind  between  the  two  taftes,  were  I  not  de- 
terred by  the  decifive  fentence  of  the  Poet,  who 
pronounces  them  abfolutely  irreconcileable  ;  and 
in  confequence,  though  with  manifeft  reluctance, 
dooms  to  deilruction  the  venerable  avenue  of  oaks 
which  may  have  heard  the  (trains 

Of  Sidney's,  nay,  perchance  of  Surry's  reed, 
Heav'ns!   mud  they  fall?    They  muft,  theirdoom 
is  part. 

And  why  ? — Becaufe  nature  abhors  a  ftraight 
line  even  more  than  (lie  formerly  did  a  vacuum. 
And  this,  too,  is  the  dictate  of  the  bard  who  has 
transplanted  the  unnatural  Greek  chorus  into  the 
Englifn  drama  ! 

With  fome  indignation,  but  more  pleafure,  I 
turn  to  another  Poet,  and  eminently  a  poet  cf  na- 
ture too,  who  has  confecrated  this  noble  pro- 
duction of  united  art  and  nature  in  verfes  which, 
I  dare  predict,  will  outlive  the  fentence  of  its  de- 
ft  ruction. 

How  airy  and  how  light  the  graceful  arch, 
Yet  awful  as  the  confecrated  roof 


IlS  L   E   T   T    E    R      Xt. 

Re-echoing  pious  anthems  I  while  beneath 
The  chequerM  earth  feems  reftlefs  as  a  flood 
Brufh'd  by  the  wind.     So  fportive  is  the  light 
Shot  thro'  the  boughs,  it  dances  as  they   dance, 
Shadow  and  funfhme  intermingling  quick, 
And  darkening  and  enlight'ning,  as  the  leaves 
play  wanton,  every  moment,  every  fpot, 

Cowper's  Task. 

I    cannot  conclude    my    long  letter  more    hap- 
pily;  fo 

Adieu  ! 


(     H9     ) 


LETTER     XVT. 


ON    POPE'S    ESSAY    ON     CP.IT1CISM. 


DEAR    SON, 


Ti 


HOUGH  it   is  for  the  moll  part   a  poor  em- 
ployment to  endeavour  to  point  out  faults  in  a  per- 
formance of  reputation,   and    to   diminifh  the   ad- 
miration   with  which  it   has  ufually  been  regarded, 
yet  as  far  as  inculcating  the  true  principles  of  lite- 
rature is  of  any  confequence,  it  is  impoitant  occa- 
fionally  to    difcufs  the   merits   of  thofe  wo:ks   on 
which  the  public  tafte  is  chiefly  formed.     And  this 
is  peculiarly  juft   and    proper  with  refpect  to  fuch 
pieces  as  are  themfelves-    critical,  and    written  with 
the  profefted  intention  of  eftablifhing  rules  for  com- 
pering and  judging.      Among   wotks  of  this   kind, 
few  are    more    diftmguifhed    than    Popes    LJj'ay  on 
Criticijm.     If  the    circuniftance   of  its  being  writ- 
ten in   verfe    has,   on    the    one  hand,  impaired  its 
authority,  on  the  other,  it  has  ferved  to  make   it 
more  read,  and  to  fix  its  maxims  more  thoroughly 


!  --  LETTER       XVI. 

in  the  memory.      In  fact,   few  pieces  are  mere  re* 
-  to   in  the   way   ._  {  \  |   after  the 

high    praifes   it  has  received   from  fuch   nar 
Warburtoa,   Johnion,    2nd   W  its    influence 

upon  the  cpinic :        :"  rot  be 

iuppoied     mconfiderable.       Such     commend: 
.:.   render  it  a   hazardous    t_d:  to   c 

lerits.     Bat  my   experience  of  men    and 
books  has  not   fenred  to  aogment  my  confide 

;    ::.d    f    1    -..  '.     "-'  e    g 
the  atjeel  .  [f  tthafl  you  will 

Dr.  T.VarburtoDj  at  afhs  ( 

en  tlua  Efiay,  ;:.:..-  cafls  it   to  the  rea  i 

titi       -....'"-  I    not  al  I  : 

Kii  •       :    it 

:■       ver     props*    ....      Il    may  j  rftly  b     I \ 
;'    t]       east] 

.    I  :  .  .  :  S   E 

if    a    '    ./   I       -:    d.:._-    : 

-  :     it  t ":.:-:    c 
racy  ot  conception,  1 
werel 

■  ■-    '-  uwers.     It 
.'.       -  '  -    1 :    1    d 

■■  bieti    ::   abpaBdi   aj 
I       a "  t  I  hare  to  d 

re  the  i  ...    : 

- 

....     -...    of   ma 


POPE  3    ESSAY    OM     CRITICISM.  121 

founded  on  p-ood  fenfe,  and  eXpridTed  with  the  ut- 
moil  brilliancy  of  language. 

With  refpect  to  the  method  of  the  piece,  as  far 
as  it  really  pofJeffes  a  method  not  forcibly  hold  to- 
gether by  the  commentator's  chain,  it  may  be 
affirmed,  that   the  ar  t&£        iter- 

and  natural,  but  not  very  clofely  adhered  to. 
Many  of  the  rules  and  remarks  are  brought  in  with 
little  connexion  with  what  preceded,  and  appa- 
rently might  be  tranfpofed  without  injury.  And 
after  all  Warburton  has  done  for  Pope,  and  his 
difciple  for  Horace,  it  is  certain  that  the  reader  of 
each  poet  will  fcarcely,  without  a  previous  clue, 
become  feirfible  of  more  than  a  fet  of  detached 
maxims,  connected  only  by  the  general  fubjeci. 

Pope  begins  with  an  affertion  which,  if  true, 
would  render  his  work  of  very  confined  utility, 
namely,  that  critics,  as  well  as  poets,  mufi  be  born 
fuch. 

Both  mud  alike  from  heav'n  derive  their  light, 
Tifefe  born  to  judge,  as  weil  as  thofe  to  write. 

And  he  further  limits  the  profeflion  of  criticifm, 
by  requiring  that  both  talents  mould  be  united  in 
the  fame  perfon. 

Let  fuch  teach  others  who  tliemfelves  excel, 
And  cenfure  freely  who  have  written  well. 

But  furely  both  thefe  are  very  falfe  notions  ;   for 
nothing  feems  to  be  more  a  matter  of  acquirement 
L 


122  L    E    T   T   E   R       XVI. 

than  the  habit  of  judging-  accurately  on  works  of 
art ;  and  this  habit  appears  from  innumerable  in- 
ftances  to  be  perfectly  diftincl:  from  the  faculty  of 
praftifmg  the  arts.  Indeed  they  have  much  oftener 
exifted  feparate  than  combined. 

Thus  in  the  foul  while  Memory  prevails, 
The  folid  power  of  Underftanding  fails; 
Where  beams  of  warn]  imagination  play, 
The  Memory's  foft  figures  melt  away. 

The  beauty  of  imagery  in  thefe  lines,  mould  not 
make  us  blind  to  the  want  of  juftnefs  in  the 
thought.  To  reprefent  ftrength  of  memory  as  in- 
h  foUdity  of  underfcanding,  is  fo 
obviQuily  contrary  to  fa&,  that  I  prefume  the  au- 
thor had  in  his  eye  only  the  cafe  of  extraordinary 
memory  for  names,  dates,  and  things  which  offer 
no  ideas  to  the  mind ;  which  has,  indeed,  been 
ften  difplay  ,1  in  great  perfection  by  mere  idiots. 
For,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  the  faculty  of 
judgment,  which  confifts  in  Ire  comparifbn  of  dif- 
t  id:as,  caa  at  all  be  exerdif  1  with  at  the 
power  of  flaring  up  id^as  in  the  mind,  and  c 
them  forth  when  required.  From  the  fecond 
couplet,  apparently  meant  to  be  the  convene  of  the 
firft,  one  would  fuppofe  that  he  confidered  the  un- 
derftanding  and  the  imagination  as  the  fame  faculty, 
dfe  the  counterpart  is  defective.  Farther,  fo  far 
is  it  from  being  true,  that  imagination  oblite 
the  Gsrures  of  r.ic3C";  that  the  circuznftance  which 


popl's   essay   on   criticism  123 

caufes  a  thing  to  be  remembered  is  principally  its 
being  affociated  with  other  ideas  by  the  agency  of 
the  imagination.  If  the  poet  only  meant,  that 
thofe  ideas  about  which  imagination  is  occupied, 
are  apt  to  exclude  ideas  of  a  different  kind,  the 
remark  is  true  ;  but  it  ihould  have  been  differently 
expreffed. 

One  Science  only  will  o::e  Geniu3  fit. 

The  maxim  is  as  falfe,  as  it  is  difcouraging,  and 
derogatory  from  the  powers  of  the  human  mind. 
It  is,  perhaps,  generally  true,  that  the  genius  is 
exclufiyely  fitted  for  attaining  excellence  in  one  cf 
the  great  clafTes  of  mental  acquisitions,  as  fcience, 
art,  invention,  &c.  but  he  who  can  make  himfelf 
mailer  oF  one  fcience  properly  io  called,  may  com- 
monly with  equal  application  attain  any  ether. 

Firfl  follow  Nature. 

This  trite  rule  can  be  cf  little  ufe  without  being 
opened  and  exemplified,  It  is  perfectly  obvious, 
that  in  all  the  arts  which  are  imitative  cr  defcrip- 
tive  cf  nature,  the  mult  be  the  archetype  ;  but  the 
proper  manner  of  ftudying  nature,  and  trans:  . 
its  images  to  each  particular  fpecles  of  the  works 
of  art,  varioufly  combined,  contracted,  and  per- 
haps heightened  and  altered,  is  the  great  dejtderatum 
on  which  their  true  theory  and  practice  is  founds 
ed.  We  (hall  foon  fee,  that  Pope  cut*  fhort  all 
difcuffions  of  this  kind,  by  reducing  his  general 
L  3 


LtTTEI      XVI. 


region,   ].. 

the  ancients. 

I  las,  but  ill 

a  dofie  ccpyiit 
•  be  thou. 
■ 

'     -  -  .5   di- 

:   i:  Nature  zrA 

.    modern   idolatry  of 

itcd  2cm   to  ee  of 

[  bsj    Bad   critics    have   not    been 

have    cc        -     h      '      ml 

<_> » 

kmi    cf    their 
Bat      -    I    - 
m   r     •  .-         F  the  true  critic  s  k     pber, 

o .  how 

.•  art  :   If  :   poem 

be  a  repi  ..'.  - 

t  be   . .  .  - 
tuf     I  :..;i:  |    an  I    -        f        .;    mote  : 

that  a 

'. .  ..  i»  i  -  ^       -  --•      f 

"  •  as  .  «   ■".  ....  led  .  I 

heir:  i  derived  f 

*ftk    of  a  predecefibr. 
the   ancient   ruk  -  -"■'!  1  tin    ground 

were   "d  -.'..:. 


popl's   essay  on   criticism.  125 

only  "  nature  methodized,"  he  gives  a  jull  notion 
of  what  they  ought  to  be.  But  when  he  fiippofei 
Virgil  to  have  been  properly  "checked  in  h'.s  bold 
delign  of  drawing  from  Nature's  fountains,"  and 
in  confequence  to  have  confined  his  work  within 
rules  as  ftric.1 

As  if  the  Stagyrite  o'erlook'd  each  line, 

how  can  he  avoid  the  force  of  his  own  ridicule, 
where  a  little  further  in  this  very  piece,  he  laughs 
at  Dennis  for 

Concluding  all  were  defperate  fots  and  fools 
Who  durit  depart  from  Arifiotle's  rules? 

Such  are  the  inconfifcencies  of  a  writer  who 
fometiines  utters  notions  derived  from  reading  and 
education,  fbmetimes  the  fuggeflions  of  native  good 
fenfe  ! 

Some  beauties  yet  no  precepts  can  declare, 


If  the  meaning  of  the  writer  here  is  only,  that 
rules  will  not  ftand  inftead  of  genius,  and  that  a 
poet's  greatefl  beauties  are  rather  the  refult  of  a 
happy  flow  of  fancy,  than  the  careful  purfuit  of 
precepts,  the  truth  of  the  remark  is  indisputable. 
But  if,  applying  to  the  critic,  he  means  to  tell  him 
that  certain  poetical  beauties  are  irreducible  to  ra- 
tional principles,  and  only  to  be  referred  to  fuel, 
,  a  brave  difordsr,  and  fuch  other  unmeaning 
L  3 


125  LETTER.       XV  Jf. 

notions,  we  may  afiert  that  he  was  indeed  young 
in  the  phihfophy  of  cfiticifm.  He  appears,  how- 
ever, to  have  been  in  the  right  train,  when  he 
fays,  that  where  the  lucky  Ucsuce  anfwers  its  pur- 
pofc, 

tiiat  Licence  is  a  rule  ; 

but  he    cenfufss    all    again    by    the    often-quoted 

maxim, 

Greet  Wits  fomctirnes  may  glorioufly  oferd,. 
And  rXe  to  faults  true  Critics  dare  rot  mend. 

for  he  fought  rather  to  have  concluded,  that  fuoh 
fuccefsful  deviations  from  common  pracxice  are  not 
faults  ;  and  that  the  true  critic  mould  enlarge  his 
rules  to  the  comprehenfion  of  thefe  real,  though 
unufual,  excellencies.  So  much,  indeed,  does  he 
perplex  himfelf  between  veneration  for  ancient 
rules,  and  regard  to  the  practice  of  eminent  poets, 
that  the  whole  pafTage  is  full  of  ccntradiclior.s, 
which  ceil  his  commentator  much  fruitlefs  pains 
to  reconcile,  and  oblige  him  to  take  fhelter  in  a 
comparlfon  between  the  fublimities  .of  poetry,  and 
the  my^enes  of  religion,  "  feme  of  which  are 
above  reafen,  and  fome  contrary  to  it." 

Pope  goes   en  to   cbferve,    that  though  the   an- 
cients  may  make   thus   free  with   their  own  rules, 
yet    that   modern    writers    il-.ov.ld   copy  this  indul- 
gence   with  caution,    and  not  without  "  their  pre- 
t  to  ph:ad."     On  the  contrary,  a  liberal  ni3_*e 


pope's   essay  on   criticism.  127 

of  reafoning  would  allow  more  freedom  to  the 
moderns,  who  po fiefs  fuch  ftores  of  new  ideas,  to 
deviate  from  ancient  rules,  than  to  the  ancients 
who  made  and  acknowledged  them. 

Thofe  oft  are  {Irntagems  which  errors  feem, 
Nor  is  it  Homer  nods,   but  we  that  dream. 

Either  Steele  or  Addifon,  in  one  of  his  periodical 
papers,  humouroufly  delires  his  reader,  when  he 
finds  him  dull,  to  fuppofe  he  has  a  defign  in  it. 
Tin's  doctrine  is  here  ferioufly  inculcated  with  re- 
fpect  to  the  ancients  ;  but  its  abfurdity  is  fo  mani- 
feft,  that  we  may  regard  it  only  as  the  lively  (ally 
of  a  young  author  who  was  fond  of  faying  fmart 
ihmgo,  without  being  felicitous  about  their  truth. 
A  judicious  poet  may  defignedly  uttder-write  fome 
parts  cf  a  long  work,  or,  rather,  he  will  find  it 
impoiTible  to  be  every  v?here  equally  brilliant,  but 
he  will  never  with  defign  write  what  is  childiin 
and  infipid,  if  he  thinks  it  to  be  fuch. 


Hail  Bards  triumphant,  born  in 

TIJ3  nobis  eulogy  on  the  poets  of  antiquity  is 
rot  to  be  admitted  without  many  exceptions  and 
limitations  ;  efpecially  if  it  is  meant  to  extend  to 
all  that  unequal  and  motley  affemhlage  cf  writers 
known  by  the  title  of  the  c/.j/^cs.  Of  thefe,  many 
are  valued  and  read  merely  bccnule  they  are  an- 
cients  ;  and  even  the  moft  excellent  afiford  fuiBG 
k?.pe  for  manly  criticilm,  which  can   never  arrive 


12% 


LETTER      XVI. 


at  folidity  of  principles,  if  it  is  obliged  to  regard 
the  negligences  and  defects  of  great  writers  with 
filent  reverence. 

True  Wit  is  Nature  to  advantage  drefs'd, 
What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  fo  well  exprefsM; 
Something,  whofe  truth  convinced  at  fight  we  hnd, 
That  gives  us  back  the  image  of  our  mind. 

The  poet  in  cenfuring  the  narrow  and  partial 
tafies  of  fome  critics,  begins  with  that  for  conceit, 
or  a  glitter  of  dazzling  thoughts  rifing  one  after 
another  without  meaning  and  connexion.  This  is, 
falfe  zuit ;  as  a  contrail  to  which,  he  gives  a  defi- 
nition of  the  true,  in  the  preceding  lines.  But  he 
has  evidently,  by  this  purpofe  of  contrailing  the 
two  kinds,  been  led  to  a  description  which  exhibits 
none  of  the  peculiar  features  of  wit,  as  other 
writers  have  reprefented  it,  or  as  he  himfeif  ufually 
underftands  it.  By  this  definition,  any  jufl  moral 
fentiment,  any  exact  picture  of  a  natural  object, 
if  clothed  in  good  exprefnon,  would  be  wit.  Its 
ted  being  an  agreement  with  images  previously 
exiiling  in  our  own  minds,  no  other  quality  is  re- 
quilite  to  it  but  truth.  Even  uncommonnefs  is  not 
taken  into  the  character  ;  for  we  mull  often  have 
thought  it,  and  be  abfe  to  recognize  it  at  fight* 
Nor  has  he  riven  any  diftinct  idea  of  that  coven- 
tagtous  drefs  which  makes  a  natural  thought  witty. 
No  drefs  can  fuit  fome  thoughts  fo  well  as  the 
raoft  fimple.     Exalted  fentiments , of  the  heart,  and 


pope's   essay  on   criticism.  129 

iablimc  objects  in  nature,  generally  ftrike  rnoft 
when  prefented  in  language  the  leaft  fludied.  In- 
deed, he  ufes,  within  a  few  lines,  the  very  fame 
metaphor  of  drefs,  in  exposing  the  finica1  tafte  cf 
thofe  who  value  a  work  for  the  ityle  rather  than 
the  fenfe  ;  and  the  fact  certainly  is,  that  the  moil 
confeiTedly  witty  writers  have  often  been  little  foli- 
citous  as  to  the  manner  of  exprehing  their  notions. 

Pope  evidently  entertains  a  different  conception 
of  wit  from  that  of  the  definition  above  quoted, 
in  the  lines  immediately  following. 

/,s  fiiades  morefwectly  recommend  the  light, 
So  mode  ft  plainnefs  fets  off  fprightly  wit, 
For  works  may  have  more  wit  than  does  them  good, 
As  bodies  perifb  thro'  excefs  of  blood. 

Now,  "  modeft  plainnefs"  is  no  foil  or  contrail 
to  wit  as  characterized  in  the  definition,  becaufe 
it  may  be  the  moil  "  advantageous  drefs"  for  a 
thought.  Again,  that  wit  which  may  fuperabound 
in  a  work,  muft  be  a  different  thing  from  "  natural 
imagery  joined  to  good  exprefficn,"  for  in  thofe, 
what  danger  can  there  be  cf  excefs  ?  He  was 
certainly  new  recurring  in  his  mind  to  thofe  bril- 
liant flames,  which,  though  often  introduced  with 
faife  judgment,  are  not,  however,  falfe  wit. 

The  two  characters  cf  lad  critic  and  bad  poet 
are  grofsly  confounded  in  the  paffage  relating  to 
poetical  numbers  ;  for  though  it  be  true,  that  vulgar 
readers  cf  poetry   are  chiefly  attentive  to  the  me> 


ICO 


LETTER      XVI, 


lody  cf  the  verfe,  yet  it  is  net  they  who  *dmirt% 
but  the  paltry    ver/tfier,   who   employs  monotonous 

fyllables,  feeble  expletives,  and  a  dull  routine  cf 
unvaried  rhymes.  Again,  an  ordinary  ear  is  capa- 
ble cf  perceiving  the  beauty  arifing  from  the  found 
being  made  an  echo  to  the  fenfe — indeed  it  is  one 
of  the  moil  obvious  beauties  in  poetry — but  it  is 
D3  eafy  tafk  for  the  poet  to  fucceed  in  his  attempts 
to  render  it  fo,  as  Pope  has  fufEciently  proved  by 
the  miferable  failure  of  feme  of  his  examples  in 
illuftration  cf  the  precept. 

The  pow'r  of  mafic  aTl  our  hearts  allow, 
And  what  Timotheus  was,   is  Dryden  now. 

Mufic,  properly  fo  called,  and  the  melody  refult- 
In^  from  verification,  are  things  radically  different 
in  their  nature  and  principles,  though  perpetually 
confounded  in  the  figurative  language  of  poets  and 
writers  on  polite  literature.  Nor,  indeed,  do  we 
poffefs  terms  by  which  thefe  two  kinds  of  pleafing 
founi  can  well  be  feparately  defcribed.  The 
names  and  characters,  however,  of  pcet  and  mufi- 
cian,  are  fufficiently  difcriminated  ;  and  Fope  has 
committed  a  grofs  error  in  confounding  them  in 
the  prefent  inftance.  There  is  no  refemblance  be- 
tween the  manner  in  which  Alexander  was  affect- 
ed by  the  mvjic  of  Timotheus,  and  that' in  which 
we  are  affected  by  the  poetry  of  Dryden  defcriptive 
of  that  event.  The  firfc  was,  as  flory  relates,  an 
inftance  of    the    powers  of   pure    found,    fkilfuiy 


pope's   lssay   on   criticism.  131 

modulated  and  changed.  The  latter  is  a  mod  ani- 
mated picture  of  fuccefiive  difplays  of  paffion  ;  and 
much  more  refembles  the  erred  of  a  hiftory-paint- 

ing,  than  of  a  piece  of  mufic.  The  mere  verifi- 
cation is  a  very  inferior  point  in  Dryden's  Ode, 
though  it  is  a  principal  one  in  Pope's  rival  Ode  on 
St.  Cecilia's  day.  Alexander's  Feaft  fet  to  Han- 
del's mufic  may,  indeed,  be  paralleled  to  the  per- 
formance of  the  Grecian  ;  but  then  Handel,  and 
not  Dryden,  is  the  modern  Timotheus.  It  is  ludi- 
crous enough,  that  Pope's  comparifcn  of  ryden 
to  a  harper,  fnould  come  fo  near  to  the  idea  form- 
ed of  Pope  himfelf  by  a  crowned  head,  who  is 
reported,  on  hearing  the  poet  greatly  extolled  in 
his  prefence,  with  a  view  of  attracting  his  notice, 
to  have  aikeu,  if  Mr.  Pope  were  a  fiddler. 

Fools  admire,  but  men  of  fenfe  approve. 

This  prudifh  fentence  has  probably  made  as 
many  formal  coxcombs  in  literature,  as  Lord  Chef- 
terneld's  opinion  on  the  vulgarity  of  laughter,  has 
among  men  of  high  breeding.  As  a  general  maxim, 
it  has  no  foundation  whatever  in  truth.  Prone- 
nefs  to  admiration  is  a  quality  rathsr  of  temper 
than  of  understanding  ;  and  if  it  often  attends 
light  minds,  it  is  alk>  infeparable  from  that  warmth 
of  imagination  which  is  requiiite  for  the  ftrong 
perception  of  what  is  excellent  in  art  and  nature. 
Innumerable  inflances  might  be  produced  of  the 
rapturous  admiration   with  which   men    cf    genius 


132  LETTER       XVI. 

have  been  ilruck  at  the  view  of  great  perform- 
ances. It  is  enough  here  to  mention  the  poet's 
favourite  critic,  Longinus,  who  is  far  from  being 
contented  with  cool  approbation,  but  gives  free 
fcope  to  the  moft  enraptured  praife.  Few  things 
indicate  a  mind  more  unfavourably  conftituted  for 
the  fine  arts,  than  a  flownefs  in  being  moved  to  the 
admiration  of  excellence  ;  and  it  is  certainly  better 
that  this  paflion  mould  at  firfl  be  excited  by  objeds 
rather  inadequate,  than  that  it  mould  not  be  ex- 
cited at  all. 

After  properly  exhorting  his  critic  to  candour 
and  good-nature,  the  poet  is,  however,  indulgent 
enough  to  point  out  feme  topics  on  which  he  may 
be  as  four  and  fevere  as  he  pleafes.  The  firft  fault 
given  up  to  his  rage  is  Obfcenky  ;  and  coubtlefs,  if 
the  critic  think  it  worth  his  while  to  direct  his 
formidable  artillery  againft  fuch  an  obvious  violation 
of  propriety,  no  friend  of  virtue  and  decorum  Will 
reftrain  him.  It  was  not,  however  perfectly  decent 
in  Pope  to  exprefs  fuch  a  rigid  zeal  on  this  f«bje£t, 
when  icveral  of  his  own  juvenile  pieces,  full  pre- 
served in  all  editions  of  hi^  work,  are  by  no  raeanq 
free  from  the  blemifn  he  ftigmatizes. 

The    next   devoted   crin.e    i;  Now,    a 

perfon  may  be  very  convciiant  with  the  rules  of 
poetical  cnticTm,  without  being  able  exa&ly  to 
determine  on  the  validity  of  a  charge  of  impiety; 
and  there  is  reafon  to  fufp.c:  that  cur  young 
lawgiver  was  kimfelf  in  this  cafe.      Tie  fays, 


pope's  essay  on   criticism.  X35 

The  following  licence  of  a  foreign  reign 
Did  al.  the  dregs  of  bo.d  Socinus  drain  ; 
Then  unbelieving  Priefts  reform'd  the  nation, 
And  taught  more  pleafant  methods  cf  falvation. 

Socinian  is  a  very  potent  term  of  abufe,  and  has, 
at  various  periods,  been  applied  with  fingular  ad- 
vantage by  thofe  who  wimed  to  render  their  anta- 
gonills  odious  ;  yet  the  religion  Socinus  profefled 
will  bear  comparifon,  in  point  of  fervency  and 
purity,  with  that  of  the  moft  faintly  names  upon 
record.  As  to  the  "  more  pleafant  methods  of 
falvation,"  we  are  told  by  the  right  reverend  anno- 
tator  (a  much  better  authority  on  this  fubject.  than 
the  poet)  that  they  were  the  duties  of  Chriftian 
morality,  which  fucceeded  the  doctrines  of  grace 
and  fatisfadiion  held  in  the  preceding  age.  Now, 
that  thefe  new  divines  offered  falvation  upon  eafier 
terms  than  their  predeceiTors,  by  fubftituti  rg  prac- 
tice to  belief,  and  a  man's  own  efforts  to  vicarious 
fatisfaction,  is  not  a  very  obvious  fact. ;  nor  is  it  a 
neceiTary  confequence  of  fuch  tenets,  that  "  vice 
mould  find  a  flatterer  in  the  pulpit."  '<  Such 
Monfters,"  whatever  the  poet  might  think,  Ere  not 
to  be  fubdued  by  the  thunders  cf  belles-lettres  cri- 
tics, but  by  the  adamantine  weapons  of  found  ar- 
gument. 

Here  I  clofe  my  remarks  on    this  performance. 

It  would  be  no  difficult  talk  to  adduce  from  it  many 

more  inilances  of  mallow  judgment   on  books  and 

things,   either  incidentally  mentioned,  or  defignei 

M 


134  LETTER       XVI. 

as  exemplifications  of  his  rules  ;  but  my  purpofe 
was  to  mew  you  how  little  it  deferves  the  high 
eflimation  in  which  it  has  been  held  as  a  didactic 
work.  This,  I  trufc,  has  fufnciently  appeared, 
from  the  vague  and  inconfequent  manner  of 
thinking  on  fundamental  points,  difplayed  in  the 
cited  paffages.  The  character  of  a  confummate 
critic  at  twenty  is  what  Pope  may  well  refign,  and 
dill  retain  enough  cf  juft  reputation  to  place  him 
in  the  moil  confpicuous  rank  of  Englifn  literature. 

Farewel  I 


(     Ht    ) 


L  E  T  T  E  K    XVII. 


ON    THE    ANALOGY    BETWEEN    MENTAL    AND 
BODILY    DISEASE. 


DEAR     SoN, 

T  lias  been  afferted,  that  every  man's  way  of 
fekinkiag  takes  a  tinge  from  his  profeihon  or  man- 
ner of  life.  Of  the  truth  of  this  remark  I  am 
personally  fenfible,  from  the  habit  I  have  formed 
of  applying  medical  ideas  to  moral  fubjeels.  It  is, 
indeed,  nothing  new  to  regard  all  mental  vices 
Had  defects  as  fo  many  difeafes  of  that  part  of  cur 
frame  ;  and  moralifb  of  all  ages  have  been  fend 
of  running  companions  between  maladies  of  the 
body  and  the  mind.  Yet  I  cannot  but  think,  that 
fomethiag  ftill  remains  to  be  dene  in  the  practical 
application  of  the  da&rine  ;  and  that  it  is  cf  im- 
portance, both  with  reflect  to  the  fuccefsful  treat- 
ment of  mental  clkT.itz,  and  to  the  preservation  of 
our  tranquility  under  a  view  of  the  evils  c  ': 
that  this  refemblance  mould  be  ftrongly  iasprefied 
on  our  thoughts. 

M   2 


2^6  LETTER 


r>- 


One  confequence  would  undoubtedly  be  the  re- 
fult  ;  that  we  fhould  not  expecl  to  cure  thefe  dif- 
orders  by   trifling   and  cafnal  remedies,  but  mould 
fix  our   confidence   folely   on   fome   vigorous    plan, 
confifting   in    the  refolute  application    of  cppofdes, 
upon    the    medical  maxim,    coniraria,   contrariorum 
ejfe  remedla.     It  is  the  want  of  power  or  resolution 
to  put  in  practice  this  grand  principle  of  the  healing 
art,   that    renders    moral   diilempers   in   general    fo 
inveterate.     What   can  be    relied  upon  to   cppofe 
ftrong   natural  inclination,    conilant    example,  and 
confirmed  habit,    but  fome  agent  equally  powerful, 
which  fhall,  not   in  the  way  of  perfuafion,   but   by 
coercive  fores,  be  employed  to  draw  over  the  mind 
to  a  contrary  ftate  of  feeling?  Where   this  can  be 
put  in  practice,  there   is   no    cafe    of  moral  depra- 
vity fo    defperate  as  to  be  without  the  hope,   nay, 
perhaps,  without   the   certainty,  of  a  cure  ;  where 
it  cannot,  the  (lighted  vitiation  is  hardly   to  be  re- 
moved.     It  is  not  without  experience  that  I   fpeak 
ia  this  matter.      More  than   once  has   it    happened 
to  me  to  hz  confulted  as   a   friend  on   becaiion    of 
the  difcovery  of  very  ruinous  tendencies   in  young 
perfons.      In   thefe   inftahces,    diffuading  ail  petty 
expedients,  I  recommended  fuch  a  total  change  of 
external   circumftances,   as  would  of  necejjiiy  induce 
as   complete  a  change    of  views  and  habits ; — and 
the   event  juftified   my  advice.     That    this  was    a 
right    method,    was,    indeed,    fuiriciently   obvious  j 
but  it  might  not  be  fo  obvious  that  it  was  the  only- 


MENTAL    DISEASE.  137 

right  one ;  at  leaft,  parental  indulgence  is  fre- 
quently glad  to  fhelter  itfelf  under  the  plaufil 
of  fome  lefs  decifive  mode  of  proceeding.  But  to 
one  who  has  a  juft  notion  of  the  operation  of  mo- 
tives upon  the  mind,  it  will  be  very  apparent,  that 
as  long  as  thofe  which  are  induced  for  the  purpofe 
.of  remedy  continue  inferior  in  force  to  thofe  which 
nourilh  the  difeafe,  no  benefit  whatever  can  be 
expected  from  their  application.  Actions,  which 
we  would  avert  will  either  be  done,  or  not  be 
done.  They  will  infallibly  be  done,  if  the  motives 
for  them  preponderate  ;  they  will  not  be  done,  if 
the  contrary  takes  place.  There  is  no  medium ; 
and  fuch  is  the  power  of  habit,  that  every  inftance 
either  of  yielding  or  of  refiilinp-,  favours  a  fhnilar 
termination  when  the  trial  next  occurs.  Whence 
may  be  demonjQtratively  (hewn  the  weaknefs  of  ex- 
pe&ing  any  advantage  from  the  mere  repetition  cf 
efforts  that  have  already  proved  unavailing. 

You  are  better  acquainted  than  myfelf  with  the 
fcholailic  comroverfles  concerning  liberty  and  nc- 
ceffity.  I  frequently  hear  them  called  mere  logo- 
machies, and  fuch  I  am  inclined  to  fuppofe  they 
are,  when  carried  to  their  ittmoft  degree  of  ab- 
fraction.  But  that  they  are  not  entirely  without 
practical  effects  upon  common  minds,  I  am  from 
observation  convinced  ;  and  in  particular,  I  have 
no  doubt  that  the  tendency  of  the  popular  notions 
■  man's  free  agency,  h  to  inipire  too 
lidence  in  the  e!ncacy  c:   the  feebler  aids 

M  3  ' 


*3$  LETTER       XVfr. 

to  morality,  fuch  as  precept  and  argument aticn. 
By  thofe  who  entertain  exalted  ideas  of  the  fd£ 
determining  power  of  the  foul,  it  is  readily  con- 
ceived, that  placing  before  it  an  irrefragable  fyllo- 
gifm  in  favour  of  virtue  can  fcarcely  fail  to  enable 
it  to  refill  all  the  allurements  of  vice.  But  the 
poet  could  long  ago  pronounce,  "  Video  meliora, 
probcque,  deteriora  fequor  f*  the  true  interpreta- 
tion of  which  is,  that  conviction  of 'the  under- 
ftanding  is  not  the  flrongeii  motive  that  can  be 
prefented  to  the  human  mind. 

A  perfon  cannot  have  furveyed  mankind  with 
an  attentive  eye,  without  perceiving  in  many  cafes 
fuch  an  irreiiitible  feries  of  caufes  operating  in  the 
formation  of  character,  as  muft  convince  him  of 
the  actual  exiftence  of  a  moral  necefiity  ; — that  is, 
of  fuch  an  overbearing  prepcilency  of  motives 
tending  to  one  point,  that  in  ro  one  inilant  of  a 
man's  life  could  he  be  fuppofed  capable  of  a  courfe 
of  action  different  from  that  he  has  really  adopted. 
Purfue  an  individual  belonging  to  any  one  of  the 
ftronglywaiarked  clafTes  of  fociety  from  the  cradle 
to  the  grave,  and  fee  if  the  procefs  of  fixing  his 
character  has  not  been  as  regular  and  unalterable 
as  that  of  his  bodily  conflitution.  Take  one  of 
thofe,  too  frequent  in  this  great  metropolis,  who 
may  be  faid  to  be  fuckled  with  vice  and  infamy, 
the  breed  of  a  proflitute  and  houfebreaker,  born 
and  educated  in.  the  precincts  of  St.  Giles's. 
With  the  firft  ufc  of  language  he  learns  blafphenry 


MENTAL    DISEASE.  I3f 

•and  obfcenity ;  his  little  hands  are  pra&ifed  in  pick- 
ing pockets,   and  his  infant   underftanding  in  fram- 
ing tricks  and  falfehoods.      His  early  pleafures  are 
dram  drinking  and   debauchery    cf   every    fpecies ; 
and  when  not  roufed  by   appetite  or  compulfion,  he 
pafTes  away  the  time  in  the  ftupidity  of  floth.      He 
fees  nothing  before  him  but  adts  of  rapine,  cruelty, 
and  brutality.     Chailifements  teach  him  craft,  and 
inflame  his  paffion   for  mifchief.     Not  only  the  du- 
ties of   religion    and    the   obligations  of  virtue  are 
things  utterly  beyond  his  comprehension,  but  he  is 
a  perfect  ftranger  to  all  the  comforts  of  decent  life. 
Thus  by   the  all-powerful    force    of  education  and 
habit,  he  is  formed  into  the  character  of  a  ferocious 
beaft  ;  certain  to  end  his  life  by  violence,    if  it  be 
not   foon^r  cut  off  by  the  confequences  of  intem- 
perance. 

This,  it  will  be  faid,  is  an  extreme  cafe  ;  but 
evefrin  the  oppofite  rank  of  fociety,  among  thofe 
who,  as  we  commonly  fay,  may  live  as  they  like, 
inftances  may  be  found  of  equal  fubjugation  to  the 
law  of  neceffity.  Take  the  heir  to  a  large  entailed 
eftate,  brought  up  while  a  child  in  a  houfe  dtftin- 
.  gushed  for  riotous  luxury  and  irregularity.  Let 
him  be  nurfed  in  ideas  of  felf-confequence,  flattered 
by  obfequious  fervants,  and  indulged  in  every  ca- 
price of  appetite  and  pafiion  by  weak  or  negligent 
parents.  Transfer  him  to  a  public  fchool,  with  a 
large  allowance  of  pocket-money  ;  and  thence. 
When  riibjr  to  manhood,  to  fen::    vented  collet   ha 


14°  letter.     xv:r. 

an  university.--  Then  fend  him  on  his  travels,  ae* 
compared  by  an  ignorant  mercenary  tutor.  Let 
him  make  a  due  flay  in  every  corrupt  metropolis  in 
Europe,  the  refort  of  his  idle  countrymen  ;  and 
finiih  by  Jludying  the  tsnvn  in  his  own.  Laftly, 
return  him  with  a  complete  apparatus  of  guns, 
horfes  and  hounds  to  his  native  woods,  there  to 
refide  the  uncontroled  lord  of  a  herd  of  tenants 
and  dependants,  with  no  other  object  in  life  thari 
to  take  his  pleafure  and  maintain  his  hereditary 
fway.  Is  it  in  the  nature  of  things  pofftble  that 
this  man  mould  turn  out  any  thing  elfe  than  a  low- 
minded,  brutal,  tyrannical  debauchee  ? 

The  phyfician  knows  that  certain  modes  of  liv- 
ing will  infallibly  bring  on  certain  difeafes,  which 
will  defcend  from  parents  to  children,  and  can 
never  be  extirpated  as  long  as  the  original  caufes 
prevail.  The  moralift  may  equally  foretel  certain 
vices  as  the  confequence  of  certain  conditions  and 
manners  in  fociety,  which  will  prove  unconquer- 
able while  circumftances  remain  the  fame.  The 
morbid  tendency  in  both  cafes  is  too  ftrcng  to  be 
counteracted  by  common  remedies.  Nothing  but 
a  total  change  of  habit,  effected  by  means  equally 
•powerful  and  long-continued  with  thole  which  bred 
the  malady,  can  work  a  cure.  To  eftablifb  fuch  an 
alterative  plan  ha*  been  the  aim  of  all  the  great 
reformers  of  mankind.  It  was  that,  you  know,  of 
cuv  rnofl  levered  friend,  Mr.  Reward,  who  was 
fenfible    v/L:rt    a    c&r&binafcien    cf    Dosrg&ivi 


MENTAL    DISEASE.  I4.I 

powers  was  neceffary  to  produce  any  confiderable 
and  lading  effects  upon  perfons  long  hardened  by- 
criminal  courfes.  But  fuch  coercive  methods  can 
only,  in  the  common  Hate  of  things,  be  applied  to 
thofe  who  have  made  themfelves  the  objects  of 
legal  puniihment.  For  the  reformation  of  a  whole 
people,  and  especially  of  the  higher  clafies,  nothing 
can  be  relied  upon  but  one  of  thofe  grand  remedial 
procsjfesy  which  are  probably  within  the  moral  plan 
of  Providence.  Nations  whom  a  long  courfe  of 
profperity  has  rendered  vain,  arrogant,  and  lux- 
urious, in  whom  increafing  opulence  has  generated 
increafed  wants  and  deiires,  for  the  gratification  of 
which  all  barriers  of  honour  and  juftice  are  broken 
down,  who  are  arrived  at  that  ftate  in  which,  ac- 
cording to  the  energetic  expreffion  of  the  Roman 
hiftorian,  they  can  neither  bear  their  vices  nor  the 
remedies  of  them  ; — are  only  to  be  brought  back 
to  a  right  fenfe  of  things  by  feme  fignal  cataf- 
trophe,  which  mall  change  the  whole  form  of  their 
affairs,  and  oblige  them  to  fet  out  afrefh,  as  it 
were,  in  the  world.  A  conviction  that  fuch  events 
are  neceffaryf  and  that  they  are  kindly  intended  as 
remedies  of  greater  evils  than  they  immediately 
occafion,  is  the  only  confideration  that  can  tran- 
quilife  the  heart  of  a  benevolent  man  who  lives  in 
a  period  when  thefe  awful  operations  are  in  a  pe- 
culiar manner  carrying  on.*      It  may  reconcile  him 

$-   Soiet  fieri.  Hoc  parum  eft  :  debuit  fieri. 
Docernuntur  iita,  non  accidunt. 

SEiiEC.  Epift. 


I42  LETTER      XVII. 

to  the  various  delays  and  fluctuations  in  the  pro- 
grefs  towards  a  final  event  which  he  cannot  but 
ardently  defirc.  It  may  convince  him  that  nothing 
is  lojl ;  that  no  evils  are  without  their  correfpon- 
dent  benefits  ;  and  that  when  he  wimes  for  a  foeedy 
fettlement  of  things  by  the  quiet  operation  of  rea- 
fon,  without  any  of  the  harm  methods  by  which 
fcubhorn  vices  are  to  be  forcibly  eradicated,  he 
•wimes  for  an  impracticability  as  great,  as  the  fur- 
geon  who  would  hope  to  cure  an  inveterate  cancer 
without  the  knife  or  the  cauftic. 

Thefe  are  times,  my  Son,  m  which  reflections 
of  this  kind  are  particularly  feafonabfe.  You  are 
capable  of  giving  them  their  due  force  ;  and  even 
mould  you  find  yourfelf  totally  miftaken  in  your 
expectations  as  to  the  reiult  of  fuppofed  remedial 
frroceiTes,  you  are  provided  with  principles  which 
will  enable  you  to  acquiefce  in  the  humble  confi- 
dence that,  however  diftant,  the  time  will  come, 
when  all  evils  both  natural  and  moral  (hall  receive 
their  final  cure. 


(     H3  ) 


LETTER     XVIII. 


ON     SPLLEN    AND    LOW    SPIRITS. 


O  not  be  alarmed,  my  dear  Son,  at  the  fubjedt 
of  my  prefent  letter.  It  is  not  becaufe  I  have  ob- 
ferved  in  you  any  indications  of  a  tendency  to  loiv 
fpirits  that  I  make  them  my  topic,  but  becaufe  I 
know  them  to  be  the  malady  that  moft  eafily  befets 
perfons  of  a  literary  turn  and  fedentary  profeffion. 
And  however  youth  and  variety  of  purfuit  may  at 
prefent  fecure  you  againft  their  attacks,  the  time 
will  probably  come,  when  it  will  require  fome 
effort  on  your  part  to  refill  an  enemy,  whofe  af- 
faults  become  continually  more  and  more  pertina- 
cious, with  lefs  and  lefs  power  to  repel  them. 

So  general,  indeed,  is  the  evil  of  low  fpirits  in 
certain  conditions,  that  I  confider  it  as  the  grand 
leveller  of  human  life — the  malignant  fpell  that 
renders  all  the  diitin&ions  of  rank,  knowl 
and  understanding,  almcit  totally  inefficacious  in 
creating  thole  differences' of  degree  m  hap 
that  mould  feem  almeft  neccrFarily   to    refult  from 


144  LETTER       XVIII. 

them.  It  is  that  which  makes  the  fplendid  palace 
and  luxurious  banquet  of  the  nobleman  lefs  plea- 
fant  to  him  than  his  poor  hut  and  coarfe  meal  to 
the  labourer ; — which  defeats  the  well-imagined 
fchemes  of  enjoyment  from  liberal  curiofity  and 
literary  leifure  ; — which  infufes  liillefmefs  and  dif- 
guft  amid  the  moil  fludied  refinements  of  public 
amuiement ; — which,  in  fhort,  fooner  or  later,  gives 
convincing  proof  of  the  vanity  of  expecting  to  live 
happily  by  living  only  to  be  entertained. 

This  malady,  under  the  name  of  Spleen,  has  been 
the  fubject  of  a  variety  cf  publications,  ferious  and 
humourous,  moral  and  medical.  Among  the  reft, 
it  has  given  title  to  one  of  the  moil  original  poems 
in  our  language,  replete  with  wit,  imagery,  and 
cbfervation  of  mankind  in  an  uncommon  degree. 
I  need  fcarcely  tell  you  that  I  mean  Green's  pctm  of 
the  Spleen.  The  author  feems,  like  Horace,  to 
have  roved  through  the  regions  of  phiiofophica! 
Speculation  without  any  decifive  choice,  till  at  length 
he  fettled  in  a  refined  and  rational  epicurifm.  His 
favourite  maxim  is,  to  let  the  world  glide  by,  view- 
ing its  mifting  fcenes  as  objects  of  amufement, 
without  being  enough  interefted  in  any  to  feel 
acutely  from  difappointment.  His  is  the  philofo- 
phy  of  good-humoured  Speculative  indolence  ;  and 
if  a  man  wants  excufes  for  fitting  Hill  and  avoiding 
every  caufe  of  trouble  and  vexation,  he  can  no 
where  furnifh  himfelf  with  happier  quotation 
Who  has  not  heard  of 


SELLl'N     AND     LOW     SPIRITS.  1 4"5 

Reform, ng  fchemes  are  none  of  mine, 
To  mead  the  world'    a  va-t  defign, 
Lirie  taeirs,  who  ftnve  in  little  boac 
To  tug  to  them  the  ihip  afloat,  &c. 

The  principle  of  this,  that 

Zeal  when  hafSed  turns  to  Spleen, 

mull  be  ad  nitted  to  have  fome  foundation  in   fact ; 

and   may  juftly  be  pleaded  agamft  the  indulgence 

of   eager    wiihes     a  d   extravagant    expectation    in 

public  :   yet    I    canaot   but  think,   on  the 

h    id,    that  to    inculcate    indifference  to    all 

objects  which  are  moft  capable  of  roufi 

and    giving  employment    to   its   nobleit  facul- 

fci  -  not  the  bell  a  ':eep;:ig  off  that  lift- 

lefs  languor    which    is  the   parent    of   fpleen.     In 

{bort,  though  the  perufal  of  Mr.  Green's  poem  may 

prove  an   effe&ual  remedy    for  an  fit  ok 

low  fpirits,  yet  I  am  of  opinion,  that  the  courfe  of 

amufive  fpeculation   it   fo   pleaiingry  fagged?,  with 

the  vac  n   all  cares   and   duties,  public  and 

:  \    will    hot  anfvver  as    the   general    regimen 

agamft  this  difeafe  of  the  mind. 

Were  I  to  trea:  nedicatty  o  i  this  fobjed,  I  .' 

lay  a  very  particular    firefs   upon  1emperar.ee  as  the 

ictie  ;   and    I    mould  e  the  word 

:  '        .: a  more  than  its  ufual  iio-nification.     A 

r   every    cay  on  a  va  iety  of  d 

i      -.tile  of  wine  to  warn   it  down,    feems  in 

j.u  nan  opinion    perfeifHy  compatible   with  a 


146  letter    xvm. 

plan  of  flrict  temperance  ;  and  if  it  be  preceded  by 
a  regular  morning's  ride  to  get  a  hearty  appetite 
for  this  dinner,  every  thing  is  thought  to  have  been 
done  that  men  could  do  for  the  picfervation  of 
health  and  fpirits.  Let  gout  and  hypochondria 
come  when  they  will,  the  mode  of  living  is  not  to 
be  blamed — the  one  is  hereditary,  the  other  con- 
flitutional.  This  do&rine  may  pafs  for  orthodox 
in  the  medico-moral  cafuiftry  of  a  visitation  or  cor- 
poration-feaft ;  but  it  is  neverthelefs  indubitably 
true,  that  mch  a  good  liver  has  no  more  right  to 
expect  equal  and  unclouded  fpirits,  than  a  minifter 
of  Hate  has,  an  unfpotted  reputation  and  clear  con- 
fcience.  But  I  (hall  dwell  no  longer  on  this  topic, 
and  proceed  to  that  part  of  the  regimen  which  re- 
lates more  immediately  to  the  mind. 

This  reRs  upon  a  fimple  foundation  ;  for  were  I 
aiked,  upon  what  circumflance  the  prevention  of 
low  fpirits  chiefly  depended,  I  fhculd  borrow  the 
ancient  orator's  mode  of  enforcing  the  leading  prin- 
ciple of  his  art,  and  reply,  employment,  employment, 
employment !  This  is  the  grand  panacea  for  the 
tad'tum  vit£9  and  all  the  train  of  fancied  evils, 
which  prove  fo  much  more  inf-pp  or  table  than  reel 
one-s.  It  is  a  medicine  that  may  be  prefented  in  a 
thoufand  forms,  all  equally  efficacious.  It  may  be 
compounded  of  all  the  different  proportions  of 
mental  and  bodily  exertion  ;  nay,  it  may  be  fclely 
the  one  or  the  other,  provided  it  be  employment. 
For  I  will  not  beiitate  to  aiTert,  that  to  have  the 


SPLEEN     AND    LOW     SPIRITS.  T^l? 

ind  ardently  engaged  in  a  purfuit  that  totally  ex- 
cl  ides  exercife  of  the  body,  is  much  more  favour- 
able to  the  fpirits,  than  a  languid  mixture  of  both. 
,rc  apt  to  pity  a  perfbn  occupied  by  humour 
or  neceffity    in  a   talk    which   we    think  dull   and 
tirefome-.      Our  companion  is  here  miiplaced.     No 
taik  heartily  entered   upon  can  be  tirefome,  and  a 
I  ■," rfs  is  always  better   than  an  amufsment.     I  have 
no  doubt  that  Dr.  Johnfon  was  much  happier  while 
compiling  his  dictionary,   than   in   the  luxurious  in- 
d  dence  of  Streatham.     And  what  beta  confei 
nefs   cf  the  necefhty  of  employmenl  to    his  < 
could  have  induced  him,   in   the   laft    years    of  1  is 
melancholy   life,    to  make    ferious  proposals   icr    a 
translation  of    Thuanus  ?      A     late    tranflator    of 
Homer,  whofe  admirable  original  productions  I 
led  many  to   lament   that    he    mould  have   been   fo 
employed,  has  in  truly  pathetic  language  taken   an 
afFe&ionate    leave   cf   his  long  work,   as   the    i 
folace  of   many  and  many   an  hour,  which   by  its 
means   was  made  to  glide  by  uncounted.     And,   I 
fear,  the   innate  melancholy  of  genius  has  rend 
him  too  crood  a  fudge  of  the  value  of  fueh  a  rel 
Tee  ani\ve;ing  this  purpofe,  the  fpecies  of  employ- 
ment muil  be  one  which  does  not  frnriri    the   facul- 
ties  to  their   higher!:    pitch  ;    for  fuch   an  exertion 
can  he  fupported,  by  common  minds,  at  Ieaft,  only 
during    a    fhort    propo^eion   cf    time.       A    fleady 

i  equable  occupation,    requiring  rather  care  and  dili- 
gence, than   flights  of  fancy   or    the  powers  of  in- 
.. 


I48  LETTER      XVI.' I. 

-vention,  is  the  proper  fiapU   (if  I  may   fo  call  it) 
fef  a  well-employed  life. 

With  refpeft  to  the  numerous  body  of  thoie  who 
iftay  be  idle  if  they  pleafe,  they  will  find  coi 

iihcuky,   as  well  Id    the  choice  of  proper  em- 
tent,   as  in  the  exertion   of  refcluticn   enough 
for    the    vigorous    performance    of   a    fpentaneous 
talk,      A     majority    of   them    w31,    therefore,   be 
doomed  to  the   intrusions   cf    Spleen,  at    inl 
neither  active  pleafure  nor  bufineis  pre 
the   nlind   from  its  attacks.      B-Jt  this   is  no  ether 
than  the  necefTary  confluence  cf  fituatione  of  He 
-  artificial,   and    which    make    no  part  of  the 
'     !    plan  of   human    nature,  ho    are 

ambitions  of  lUticiis  in  which  there  are  no  . 

to  perform,   ne    -  fcs   to    exert'on,    v 

v   to   poffefs  that  corflant  ch^        '    - 
is  the   fclace  of   tcih  and  the   1  cfeful  ac- 

tivity.      Providence     cats  inly    never    intended    to 
.    a  difference    between    creatures  cf    ks 

hand,  as  that  i 11        Dnly  to  enjoy, 

others  live J  only  to  be  the  roiniftres  of  the   enjoy- 
ments.     Though   in    an  advanced  ilage    0/  f( 
many  mult  be  exempted  from  the   fentence  cf  eat- 
.    i  .       '  at  cf   their  brow,  yet   it 

is  an    immutable    decree,  that    the    oil    of  gladneis 
{hall  brighten  the  face  cf  induilry  alcne. 

For  myfelf  and  my  children.,  there  is  no  danger 
left  we  mould  come  to  want  motives  for  the  regu- 
lar employment  of  the  faculties  bellowed  upon  us,. 


SPLEEN    AND    LOW    SPIRITS.  149 

Let  us  not  murmur  at  the  kind  operation  of  fuch 
a  necefiity.  For  how  much  "Virtue  and  happinefs 
are  not  men  indebted  to  that  conilitution  of  things, 
which  impofes  upon  them  an  obligation  to  act  and 
to  refrain  ! 

Farewel  ! 

P.  S.  Since  I  wrote  this  letter,  I  have  been 
perufing  a  Difcourfe  in  which  the  benefits  refulting 
from  employment  are  confidered  with  reference  to 
the  great  fyftem  eftablifned  by  the  Deity,  whereby 
perfonal  and  general  happinefs  are  in  (o  admirable 
a  manner  made  to  coincide.  It  is  there  particu- 
larly (hewn,  how  occupation  contributes  to  our  hap- 
pinefs by  inducing  a  temporary  forgetfulnefs  of 
Jelf ;  nothing  being  fo  much  the  bane  of  enjoy- 
ment, as  the  reference  of  our  actions  to  the  felfjh 
principle.  This  excellent  piece,  which  I  cannot  too 
warmly  recommend  to  your  attention,  is  Dr. 
Pneftley's  Sermon  on  the  Duty  of  not  living  to 
puffeives* 


N  3 


(     ^50     ) 


LETTER     XIX. 


ON     CONSOLATION. 


\ 


DEAR    SON, 

T 


OUR  intended  profeflion  refembks  mine  irt 
this  refpe6t,  that  it  is  a  duty  frequently  belonging 
to  each,  to  adminifter  confolation  under  the  fe- 
vereft  diitrefs  human  nature  can  feel — that  arifing 
from  the  lofs  of  friends  by  death.  In  mine,  in- 
deed, the  office  is  rather  fpontaneous  than  pro- 
fefiional  ;  and  the  houfe  of  difeafe  is  generally 
quitted  by  the  phyfician  when  it  becomes  the  houfe 
of  mourning.  But  where  attachments  of  friend - 
mip  have  made  us  fomewhat  more  to  a  family  than 
mere  fee'd  attendants  (and  no  profeflion  fo  much 
favours  thofe  attachments)  we  cannot  hurry  away 
from  the  fcene  of  affliction.  Though  our  art  hzs 
failed,  our  counfel  and  fympathy  may  be  advanta- 
geoufly  employed  to  alleviate  human  mi.ery  ;  and 
callous  indeed  mull  his  heart  be,  who  is  capable  of 
refuting  his  confolatory  aid  on  the  plea,  it  is  not 
my  buunefs.     In  fact,  few  perfons  will  be  found 


on   consolat:c?;.  *$! 

better  acquainted  with  practical  confutation  than 
the  medical  faculty  ;  and  if  any  experience  I  may 
have  acquired  in  this  matter  can  be  of  fervice  to 
you,  to  whom  it  will  be  truly  a  profefTional  con- 
cern, you  will  thank  me  for  communicating  it. 

Wkh  refpecl  to  the  confolatory  views  that  reli- 
gion affords,  highly  as  I  think  of  their  efficacy, 
particularly  of  that  derived  from  the  habit  of  Sub- 
mitting to  the  difpenfations  of  Providence  in  full 
confidence  of  their  kind  purpofe,  I  fhall  not  at 
prefent  touch  upon  them.  It  is  unnecefTary  for 
me  to  fuggeft  fuch  confiderations  to  you.  I  fhall 
coniine  myielf  ftri&ly  to  topics  which  refer  to  this 
world,  and  to  cur  own  powers  in  fubduing  the 
imprefnons  of  grief.  But  as  we  cannot  expect  to  be 
fuccefsful  in  removing  effects,  without  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  their  caufe,  it  will  be  r.ecelTary  to 
begin  with  confiderir.7  what  is  the  real  caufe  of  the 
fprrow  we  feel  from  the  lofs  of  friends. 

I  am  very  far  from  agreeing  with  thofe  who  refer 
all  cur  fyrnpathetic  emotions  to  felf.  I  am  fu  e 
that  the  feelings  with  which  we  beheld  the  fuffej- 
ings  of  a  fellow-creature  are  generally  void  of  the 
remoteft  reference  to  cur  own  condition.  While, 
then,  a  dear  friend  is  lying  before  us  in  the  agonies 
of  a  fevere  difeafe,  our  fympathy  is  pure  ;  it  is  di- 
rected to  him,  without  any  mixture  of  felfifh  con- 
tions.  But  when  the  ftruggle  is  clofed  by 
death,  the  cafe  is  entirely  changed.  If  his  life  was 
o    little    confequenc*    to  cur  hapoiaefs,   tie  mind 


Ij"2  LETTER       XIX. 

inftantly  feels  relieved  of  her  burden  ;  and  the 
tender  regret  which  remains,  is  rather  a  foothing 
than  a  diftrefsful  fenfation.  It  is  thus  we  feel 
when  the  infirmities  of  a  good  old  age  are  brought 
to  their  period,  and  when  long  and  hopelefs  difeafe, 
which  deftroyed  all  the  ends  of  living,  receives 
its  final  cure.  But  when  our  deareil  interefts  were 
at  flake  in  the  life  of  our  friend,  the  inftant  of  the 
total  extinction  of  hope,  is  that  of  the  moft  exqui- 
site pang  of  grief.  The  very  rage  and  ftorm  of 
forrow  then  rifes  ;  and  the  fenfe  of  lofs  rufhes  upon 
the  mind  in  all  the  black  colouring  of  defpair. 
Here  it  is  impoffible  not  to  recognize  ^.feljijh  caufe 
of  grief.  It  may,  indeed,  be  fomewhat  tinged  with 
remaining  pity  for  the  fufferer :  but  the  great  ob- 
ject of  pity  is  felf;  and  the  feeling  of  deprivation 
is  in  fubftance  the  fame  as  that  proceeding  from  the 
lofs  of  any  other  worldly  comfort.  The  real  mea- 
fure,  then,  of  affliction  on  fuch  cccafions,  is  the 
degree  in  which  the  mourner's  happinefs  was  de- 
pendent on  the  life  of  the  deceafed  ;  and  i£  we 
were  able  exactly  to  eftimate  this  for  another  per- 
fon,  we  might  certainly  foretel  the  range  of  his 
prefent  and  future  diftrefs.  Such  an  eftimate, 
however,  is  difficult  to  make  ;  for  the  fources  of 
enjoyment,  and  confcquently  of  regret,  are  fo  dif- 
ferent to  different  peflfons,  that  what  appears  a 
fanciful  and  Capricious  caufe  of  forrow  to  one, 
fhal  affeft  another  as  fomething  the  moft  folid  and 
durable.     Yet  there  muft,   on  the  whole,  be  a  cer- 


ON     CONSOLATION. 


53 


lain  proportion  between  lofTes  in  the  common  mode 
of  calculating  them,  and  the  pain  they  cccafion  ; 
and  though  in  the  very  fnft  movements  of  grief 
this  proportion  may  not  appear,  we  may  fai  ly 
reckon  upon  its  fmal  operation.  A  fend  mother  or 
a  numerous  family,  whofe  infant  at  the  breaft  is 
taken  from  her,  may  for  a  fhort  period  feel  a  fenfe 
of  lofs  equal  to  that  from  lofing  her  hufhand  or 
eldeft  fon  ;  becaufe  the  child  was,  for  the  time,  the 
object  of  her  moil  frequent  attentions  and  cardies. 
But  this  ftate  cannot  be  of  long  duration.  Her 
h^ppinefs  in  its  main  points  was  no  more  dependent 
upon  fuch  an  infant,  than  that  of  a  child  upon  its 
favourite  bird.  Ke  weeps  bitterly  when  it  is  flown, 
but  a  new  one  to-morrow  makes  him  forget  it. 

The  extent  of  the  lefs  being  therefore  the  true 
meafure  of  the  grief  refuking  from  it,  the  natural 
and  fimpie  confequence  mud  be,  that  all  effectual 
confolation  muft  fpring  from  the  means  offered  to 
the  mind  for  repairing  the  lofs.  As  a  merchant 
who  has  feen  his  richly- freighted  veffel  perifli  be- 
fore his  eyes,  can  receive  no  comfort  equal  to  th  it 
of  colleciing  fome  wrecks  of  the  treafure  driven  to 
land  ;  fo  the  mourner,  deprived  of  the  dearefc  ob- 
ject of  his  affections,  to  whom  he  looked  for  the 
chief  folace  and  pkafure  of  his  life,  can  only  feel 
relief  from  the  contemplation  of  fome  remaining 
fource  of  happinefs,  which  may  afford  a  fubftitu- 
tion,  refembling  in  kind,  however  inferior  in  de- 
gree.    The    proper  office,   then,    of  a  friend  who 


2 '4  LETTER        lit. 

takes  the  arduous  talk  of  confolaticn,  is  to 
diicover  and  prelect  to  the  view  of  the  fufferer 
every  object  from  whence  a  reparation  cf  the  1  h 
maybe  derived.  I  am.  aware,  indeed,  that  in  the 
firft  movements  of  generous  forrow  there  is  a  de- 
licacy of  fentiroent  which  fpiiras  the  idea  cf  com- 
promising its  feelings,  and  regards  it  as  a  fort  of 
violation  of  the  dead,  to  fubmi:  their  value  to  any 
cool  calculation  o^  utility.  It  delights  in  exagge- 
rating every  circumftancc  which  heightens  the  lei's ; 
and  prides  itfelf,  as  it  were,  in  regarding  it  as  ir- 
reparable. To  this  "  infirmity  of  noble  mind**" 
all  due  indulgence  mould  be  (hewn,  but  without 
lofing  fight  cf  what,  after  all,  is  the  true  principle. 
The  grief  being  fundamentally  felfifh,  mail  receive 
its  cure  from  ecr.fi  derations  which  apply  to  felf; 
and  thefe,  however  gradually  and  indirectly,  muft  at 

.  be  brought  forwards.  It  is  a  fortunate  c:r- 
cumftance  when  the  commanding  language  of  duty 
c:.v.  be  made  to  coincide  with  the  foothing  fuggef- 
tions  of  comibit  ;  for  no  delicacy  can  be  pleaded 
againft  an  appeal  to  duty*  The  mourner  dares  not 
fay  or  think,  My  grief  for  the  deceafed  abfolves 
me  from   all   the   claims  of  furviving   objects  whom 

nature    has    committed  to  my   care. But    duty 

prompts  aftive  exertions,  which  are  the  fureft  pre- 
fervatives  againft  the  moft  baneful  effects  of  for- 
row. Hence  feme  of  thofe  cafes  which  feem  of 
all  the  moft  deplorable,  are  found  to  be  lefs  i  ju- 
rious  to  the  mind  in  their  confequences,  than  others 


ON.    CONSOLATION.  I55 

waere  the  lei's  is  in  appearance  lighter.  It  is  fel- 
dom  that  the  widowed  mother  of  a  large  and  un- 
provided family  is  abfolutdy  overwhelmed  by  her 
calamity  ;  whereas  the  wealthy  parent  deprived  of 
a  favourite  child  frequently  links  into  the  palfying 
defpair  of  melancholy. 

Let  him,   then,   who   aims    at     administering    a 
confolation   beyond  the  reach   of  cuflomary  forms, 
with  putting  himfelfaa  nearly  as  pofuble  in 
ration  of  the  afflicted  perfon,    and   fearching 
ie  points  on  which    grief  really    bears,    apply 
hij    attention   to   difcover   what  will    eafe  it  there. 
The  widower,  fitting  in   gloomy  folitude,  or  look- 
Uuliy  on  a   group  of  children  deprived  of  a 
..'s  cares  and  tendernefs,  wants  a  companion 
for  his  Ion ely  hours,   and  a  helper   in  parental  and 
domeilic  concerns.      Let  h:,n,   as  far  as  he  is  able, 
.  become  that    companion  ;  and  let  him  employ   his 
;hts  in  finding1  out  friends  or  relatives  who  may 
in  fome  meafure  fucceed  to  the  maternal  office,  and 
regulate  the  difordered  ilate  of  family  affairs.     For 
the  defolate   widow,  loft  in  the  perplexities  of  bu- 
finefs,    and    terrified   with    her  forlorn   unflieltered 
condition,    let    him     difentangle    complicated    ac- 
counts, obtain  the  beft  council  in  dubious  proceed- 
ings,   mutter    all    the    connexions   of  kindred   and 
fr.iendfhip,    and    intereft    them   in    her    behalf,    fet 
before  her    confoling   profpecls    of  future  expe&a* 
tl:ns,  and  (hew  her  that  the  world  is  not  that   wil- 
dernefs    pf  defpair  to  her  and  her   children  which 


I$6  LETTER      XIX. 

in  the  Mrn:  paroxyfms  of  grief  (lie  imagined  it  to 
be.  Her  lofs  is  perhaps  the  greateft  that  a  human 
being  can  fuflain.  Its  fubftitutes  therefore  mould 
be  fought  with  the  greateft  diligence,  and  from  the 
moft  various  quarters. 

To  parents  weeping  orer  the  untimely  grave  of 
a  beloved  child,  the  confoler  fhould  call  to  mind 
their  remaining  children,  and  fetting  them  full  in 
their  view,  he  fhould  fay,  Here  are  your  comforts 
— here  are  your  duties  !  Thefe  are  enough  to  fill 
your  hearts  and  occupy  all  your  attentions.  By 
due  cultivation,  you  may  obtain  from  them  mere 
than  a  compenfation  for  what  you  have  loft.  The 
tree  has  indeed,  been  mutilated,  but  it  may  be 
brought  to  yield  as  much  fruit  as  if  all  its  brandies 
were  entire.  To  thofe  whofe  only  hope  is  Mailed 
— whofe  profpecTrs  of  a  riling  generation  to  cheer 
and  honour  their  declining  years  is  for  ever  clofed 
— let  it  be  tenderly  yet  firmly  urged,  that  they  live 
in  a  woild  filled  with  relations  of  every  kind  be- 
tween man  and  man — that  the  ties  of  ffiendfhip, 
neighbourhood,  and  country,  full  fubfift  in  their 
full  force — that  the  duty  of  not  living  to-  ourfehes 
is  in  all  cafes  binding,  and  if  fa'duVJv  performed, 
will  not  fail  to.  repay  itfelf  by  heartfelt  pleafiuvs. 
Ant  them  what  they  would  have  been  had  they 
never  poiTtfTed  a  child.  Would  the  world  hs 
been  a  blank  to  them,  containing  nothing  worthy 
of  their  care  and  attachment  ?  Cruelly  difap- 
pomted  as  they  have  been — ruined  as  are  all  their 


ON    CONSOLATION.  I57 

plan?  of  remaining  life,  yet  it  is  in  their  powrr  to 
fet  out  anew,  and  create  to  themfelves  thofe  ob- 
jects of  intereil  which  would  naturally  have  en- 
gaged their  attention  had  they  been  childlefs.  Are 
their    minds    ltronp*    and    their    views   elevated  ? — 

o 

prefent  to  them  fome  large  dbjeft  capable  of  em- 
ploying all  their  exertions  in  the  purfnit,  and  ot 
fatisfying  their  reafen  in  the  end.  Under  VP&fcfe 
than  the  death  of  an'  only  child,  Howard  took  into 
his  protection  all  the  friendlefs  of'  mankind,  and 
was  confoled.  Are  their  minds  weak  and  their 
taiies  trivial  ? — their  child  was  little  more  to  them 
than  a  play-thing,  and  a  thotifand  other  play -things 
may  fupply  its  place. 

Thus  in  all  cafes  of  lofs,  fome  fubftitution  may 
be  found,  which,  if  it  does  not  obliterate  the  cala- 
mity, yet  lightens  it.  The  ftroke  of  misfortune 
never  falls  fo  heavy  as  was  expected.  It  is  alle- 
viated by  a  variety  of  things  which  itood  for  no- 
thing in  the  computation,  but  which  kind  nature, 
ever  ftudious  of  our  happinefs,  feizes  upon,  and 
employs  to  fubdue  her  bittereft  foe,  obdurate  grief. 
If  great  forrows  overwhelm  us,  little  joys  unite  to 
buoy  us  up  again.  This  procefs  may  in  general 
be  relied  on  ps  of  fure  operation  ;  and,  in  fact, 
renders  the  o.h;e  of  confoler  only  one  of  tempo- 
rary necefiity.  But  during  the  firft  accefs  of  g\  'ef, 
it    is   frequently     3:::1  of  h  -.tance;  and  on 

its  fkili on  much  of  future  peace  and  conv 

O 


Ij8  *  E  T  T  B  R      XIX. 

fort  may  depend.     You   remember  the  pretty  me* 
taphorof  Shakefpearj 

Being  that  I  flow  in  grief, 

The  fmalleft  twine  may  lead  me. 

The  firft  impulfe  in  fuch  a  ftate  may  be  of  great 
moment  to  the  direction  of  after  conduct.  One 
requifite,  however,  for  performing  fuccefsfully  the 
office  of  confolation,  nature  alone  can  bellow — a 
feeling  and  benevolent  heart.  In  that,  I  fear  not 
your  deficiency.  That  it  may  enable  you  in  this, 
as  in  all  other  duties  of  your  ftation,  to  act  to  the 
full  fatisfa&ion  of  yourfelf  and  others,  is  the  mofl 
cordial  wifh  of 

Your  truly  affectionate,  &c. 


(     159     ) 


LETTER    XX. 


ON    THE    INEQUALITY    OF    CONDITIONS. 


DEAR    SON, 

AN  my  perambulations  of  this  immenfe  metro- 
polis, where  human  life  appears  under  all  its  forms, 
and  the  excefs  of  opulence  is  clofely  bordered  on 
by  the  mod  fqualid  poverty,  many  are  the  reflec- 
tions that  occupy  my  mind,  often  to  the  tempo- 
rary forgetfulnefs  of  my  bufinefs  and  way.  Of 
thefe,  fome  of  the  molt  painful  arife  from  the  con- 
templation of  the  prodigious  inequality  among 
mankind,  and  the  ftate  of  indigence  and  degra- 
dation to  which  fo  large  a  portion  of  them  appear 
condemned.  Between  the  inhabitant  of  the  fpfefl- 
did  fquare,  and  the  tenant  of  the  gloomy  alley, 
the  apparent  difference  is  fuch,  that  if  we  take  our 
ideas  of  the  nature  and  deilination  of  man  from 
the  one,  they  feem  no  more  applicable  to  the  other, 
than  if  they  were  beings  of  different  orders.  One 
appears  the  fpoilt  child,  the  other,  the  abandoned 
outcafl   of  this  world.     There  is,  indeed,    a  clafs 

O    2 


l60  LETTER      XX. 

between  the  two  extremes  on  which  the  mind  may 
dwell  with  more  complacency ;  but  if  this  be  made 
a  flandard  for  the  fpecies,  cur  perplexities  are  only 
ihcreafed  by  obferving  the  double  deviations  from 
it.  After  thus  brooding  over  a  chaos  of  confufed 
thought,  1  feem  at  length  to  diicern  the  forms  of 
things  with  more  diftinctnefs ;  and  the  fatisfaction 
this  affords  me  is  fuch,  as  to  make  me  defirous  of 
communicating  it  to  you. 

The  firft  point  abfolutely  requifite  to  be  fettled 
in  order  to  view  the  actual  condition  of  mankind 
with  proper  feelings,  is,  how  far  it  is  a  r.eccjfary 
one.  Some  benevolent  philofophers,  fhocked  and 
difgu&ed  with  the  flate  of  fociety  as  it  appears  in 
all  large  combinations  of  men,  have  taken  refuge 
in  the  fuppofition  that  it  is  ztil  artificial  and  unna-, 
tural.  They  have  gone  back  to  the  favage  con- 
dition, and  afibciating  their  own  refined  ideas  with 
the  fimplicity  of  that  itate^  they  have  formed  a- 
picture  of  human  life,  poffefiing  the  moral  advan- 
tages of  civilization,  without  its  vices  and  inequa- 
lities. But  as  long  as  this  is  no  more,  than-a  fcene 
of  fiction,  though  -  drawn- by-  the  moft  mafic: ly 
hand,  it  deferves  no  regard  u\\  the.  decifion  of  a. 
q-uellion  within  the  reach  of  real  observation. 

In  order  to  form  true  notions  of  what!  man  ef- 
fentially  is  by  his  nature,  the  only  fure  way  of 
proceeding  is  the  fame  that  we  mould  adopt  in 
iludying  the  nature  of  any  other  animal.  Confult 
his  hiftory-  for  a  long  feries  of  ages.     See  what  his 


INEQUALITY    OF    CONDITIONS.  l6l 

leading  character  has  ever  been,  and  conclude  with 
confidence  that  fuch  it  will  ever  be.  If  the  ope- 
ration of  his  faculties  and  propenfities  have  at  all 
times  tended  to  certain  effects,  there  is  the  fame 
reafon  to  fuppofe  that  they  will  ever  continue  to 
do  fo,  as  that  any  other  of  what  we  call  the  laws 
of  nature  will  remain  inviolate.  Bees  will  ever 
conftruct  combs ;  beavers  will  raife  dams  ;  rooks 
will  form  fettlements  ;  and  men  will  build  cities. 
The  principle  of  congregating  is  fo  ftrong  within 
him,  that  it  will  ever  determine  the  condition  of 
the  bulk  of  the  fpecies.  For,  confider  what  effects 
necefTarily  flow  from  it.  Men  affembled  in  focie- 
ties  mutually  (harpen  each  others  faculties,  and 
open  new  fources  of  enjoyment,  and  consequent- 
ly, of  defire.  To  the  arts  of  firft  neceffity,  fuc- 
ceed  thofe  of  convenience,  of  elegance,  of  fplen- 
dour.  Arts  fuppofe  artifls  ;  both  the  contriving 
head,  and  the  labouring  hand.  The  firft,  being  a 
rarer  quality,  will  be  more  valued  than  the  fecond. 
In  the  fame  manner,  all  the  other  more  uncom- 
mon and  valuable  qualities  both  of  mind  and  body 
will  raife  their  poffefibrs  above  the  ordinary  Uvdt 
and  fecure  them  particular  advantages.  Thus, 
property  will  be  acquired,  will  produce  laws  and 
government  for  its  fecurity,  will  accumulate,  will 
be  allied  to  magistracy,  and  in  confequence  will 
enforce  and  augment  the  natural  inequalities  among 
men.     All  thefe  things  are  in  the  infeparable  re- 

and  to 
O  3 


1 62  LETTER      X3T. 

■expcft  the  firil  without  the  fecond,  or  to  fit  dov/n 
in  fruitlefs  lamentation  that  we  cannot  have  all 
we  wiili,  without  fomewhat  that  we  dillike,  is 
childifh  and  unreafonable. 

Men,  therefore,  by  the  conflitution  of  their  na- 
ture, will  ever  tend  to  unite  in  large  mafTes  ;  and 
thefe  mafTes  will  fall  into  the  grand  divifions  of  rich 
and  poor,  high  and  low,  governors  and  governed. 
This  is  abfolutely  unavoidable,  for  even  abolifliing 
at  once  all  the  arts  and  conveniences  of  civilized 
life  would  not  reftore  men  to  equality.  Distinc- 
tions of  power  and  influence  fubfift  in  the  favage 
horde  as  well  as  in  the  luxurious  city.  But  taking 
fociety  with  this  necefiary  condition,  there  is  ilill 
ample  room  for  the  operation  of  human  wifdom 
in  increafing  its  advantages  and  diminishing  its 
evils.  Thefe  remedial  attempts  are  part  of  man's 
nature  likewife ;  and  they  are  carried  into  effect 
by  the  employment  of  the  very  fame  faculties 
which,  directed  another  way,  have  occafioned  the 
inconvenience.  If  thefe  are  negligently  or  un- 
faithfully ufed,  the  condition  of  fociety  becomes 
much  worfe  than  it  might- have  been.  Thus,  if 
inflead  of  counteracting  by  civil  regulations  the 
iirong  tendency  to  inequality,  it  be  favoured  and 
perpetuated  by  them,  every  evil  proceeding  from 
this  fource  will,  of  conrfe,  be  aggravated.  And, . 
in  fa£t,  the  greatefl  differences  that  we  obferve  in 
the  apparent  frappinefs  enjoyed  by-  different  na- 
tions,   principally    arife  from  the  tendency  of  their 


INEQUALITY    OF    CONDITIONS. 


163 


political  inilitutions  to  augment  or  reftrain  the 
difparity  of  conditions.  Every  good  government- 
contains  in  it  a  levelling  principle  ;  for  what  is  the 
purpofe  of  equal  laws,  equal  rights,  equal  oppor- 
tunities of  profiting  by  natural  and  acquired  ta- 
lents, but  to  annul  artificial  diftinctions,  and  caufe 
the  race  of  life  to  be  run  fairly  ?  In  return  for  the 
protection  afforded  the  rich,  it  loads  them  with 
heavier  proportional  burdens  ;  and  it  provides 
fome  legitimate  mode  by  which  the  will  of  the 
many  (hall  make  itfelf  known  and  refpected,  in 
order  to  counteract,  the  grafping  projects  of  the 
few. 

But,  it  may  be  faid,  what,  after  all,  have  thefe 
contrivances  done  ? — have  they  in  any  country, 
confiderably  advanced  in  arts  and  commerce,  pre- 
vented thofe  evils  of  great  inequality  which  you 
began  with  lamenting  ?  Much  lefs,  I  acknowledge, 
has  been  effected  than  might  have  been  hoped. 
But  before  we  enquire  further  into  the  profpects 
of  future  improvement,  let  us  reflect  upon  one 
thing  that  has  been  done  for  the  melioration  of 
human  life  in  its  loweil  form  ;  and  this  is,  the 
abolition  of  domejiic  Jkevery  throughout  all  the  civi- 
lized countries  of  Europe.  Recollect,  that  in  all 
the  ancient  ftates,  which  boafted  the  moil  loudly 
of  their  freedom  and  ifonomy,  the  menial  fervant, 
the  artizan,  the  cultivator  of  the  earth,  was  a  /lave, 
who  held  life  and  all  its  petty  comforts  at  the  ar- 
bitrary pleafhre    g£  a  fellow-mortal,  often  brutal, 


164  LETTER     XX. 

violent,  and  needy.  Image  to  yourfelf,  ftreets  re- 
founding  with  the  lafli  and  the  cries  of  the  tor- 
tured— fields  covered  with  herds  of  men  in  chains, 
and  their  drivers — dungeons  and  racks  in  every 
private  houfe — age  fuffered  to  perifh  in  filth  and 
famine,  and  youth  the  prey  of  luft  and  cruelty. 
Is  any  thing  on  this  fide  the  Atlantic  fo  bad  as  fuch 
a  ftate  ?  And  has  not  this  blefTed  change  been 
effected  by  amending  the  principles  and  informing 
the  underflanding  of  men  ? 

We   may  now,  with  hearts  fomewhat  relieved, 
enter  the  clofe  court  and  funlefs  alley, 

Where  the  pale  artift  plies  the  fickly  trade  ; 

where  the  mechanic,  the  day-labourer,  and  thofe 
employed  in  the  numerous  vile,  but  necefTary, 
offices  in  a  great  city,  have  their  abode.  The 
fallow  dingy  countenances,  uncombed  locks,  and 
beggarly  apparel  of  thefe  people,  difguft  your 
fenfes,  and  their  manners  equally  fhock  your  moral 
feelings.  You  fhrink  back,  and  are  almoft  ready 
to  renounce  the  relationfhip  of  a  common  nature 
with  fuch  beings.  The  idea  of  their  prefent  and 
future  exiftence  makes  you  fhudder,  and  all  the 
fplendours  of  opulence  which  mine  at  the  expence 
of  fo  much  wretchednefs,  are  dimmed  in  your 
eyes.  But  when  you  confider  that  thefe  are  the 
reprefentatives  of  half  a  million  cf  human  be- 
ings in  this  metropolis — that  fuch  they  ever  have 
been,  not  only  here,  but   in    ever)'  other   feat   cf 


INEQUALITY    OF    CONDITIONS.  I  6£ 

arts  and  commerce — you  will  be  almoft  compelled 
to  conclude,  that  their  cafe  cannot  be  fo  bad  as  it 
feems.  Far,  far  be  it  from  me  to  infult  poverty 
by  declaiming  en  its  advantages !  We  have  had 
too  much  of  that  dfcnt.  It  is  irnpoffible  honeilly  to 
fuppofe  that  the  perfons  I  have  been  defcribing, 
enjoy  an  equal  (hare  of  the  comforts  of  this  life, 
feoyreve*  philofcphically  we  eftimate  thofe  com- 
forts. But  I  can  never  bring  rnyfelf  to  believe,- 
that  the  neeeffary  condition  of  a  majority  of  the 
human  race  is  a  decidedly  wretched  one. 
With  rcfpe«ft  to  thofe  I  am  now  considering-, 
a  great  proportion  of  them  certainly  are  not 
dc:L'tute  of  a  variety,  of  the  things  that  make  life 
de  In-able. 

Survey  them  more  dofe'iy*     They  have  a  home^ 
a    family,  ktndredj  neighbours,;  converfe,  rights,  a 
certain    liberty    of    action,   and    no    inconiiderable 
fhare   of  fenfuaL  gratiikations.     The  circumfcances 
that,  difguft  you  in  beholding  them,  do  not  difguil 
theinielves-4— habit  has  rendered  them  callous-  to  the/ 
evils  of  dirti  and]  tatters.-.    When   I.  acknowledge- 
that   it  has  alfo.  made  then*  iafenfible.  to  .moral  de- 
pravity* I  perhaps  cosfefsjro.  more -thai*  would  be 
true  of  the  modes-  of.  life  in;  the:  higheit  ranks  of* 
fociety. .    Their  vices:are*  indeed*  grofs.,and  obvious  ; 
but  you,    I   am   fare,    are    ivo.t-  one  -  of  thofe   v.ho- 
eftimate  the  noxious  qualities  of  a  vice,  chiefly  from 
its  groffnefs.     They  have,  their-  virtues  too,   and  of 
a  kind   as    undifguifed  as  their:  vices.     They,  ara 


6<5 


LETTER      XX. 


ever  ready  to  help  one  another  in  diftrefs,  and 
loudly  unite  in  decrying  every  thing  unmanly, 
cruel,  and  villanous. 

Still,  their  condition  is  attended  with  many 
ferious  evils,  which,  if  they  can  be  remedied, 
certainly  ought  to  be ;  for  to  the  happinefs  of 
fo  large  a  portion  of  fociety,  every  other  cor- 
fideration  ought  to  give  way.  But  in  order 
to  produce  any  favourable  change,  it  is  firft 
requifite  to  diilinguifn  the  necejfary  circum- 
ftances  of  their  fituation,  from  the  ca.f-j.al.  The 
neceiTary,  are  thofe  connected  with  that  in- 
feriority of  ftation  which,  I  have  attempted 
to  fhew,  m-ujt  be  the  condition  of  a  majority  in 
all  human  focieties,  and  more  efpecially  in  thcfe 
where  the  powers  of  the  mind  are  moft  cultivated. 
I  am  of  opinion,  therefore,  that  it  is  not  in  the 
power  of  merely  political  inftitutions  to  do  more 
for  the  advantages  of  the  lower  claries,  than  fecure 
them  from  oppreilion,  and  prevent  their  interefts 
from  being  facrinced  to  the  avarice  and  ambition 
of  the  higher.  Whether  this  can  be  done  much 
more  effectually  than  is  already  done  by  the  con- 
ftitution  of  our  own  country,  I  fhall  net  enquire ; 
but  I  am  ready  to  confefs,  that  my  expectations  of 
benefit  are  not  turned  towards  changes  in  that 
quarter.  It  is  on  the  removal  of  fome  of  the 
cafual  evils  attending  the  condition  of  the  poor, 
that  my  hopes  of  feeing  the  world  happier  chiefly 
depend  ;  among  which  I    reckon  grofs    ignorance 


INEQUALITY   OF    CONDITIONS,  I67 

bad  morals  and  pernicious  habits.     That  it  it  with- 
in the  reach  of  human  induftry  to  produce  great 
amendment  in  thefe  particulars,  and  that,  even  in 
a  metropolis   fo  enormous  and  licentious  as  this,  I 
no   more  doubt,   than  that  all    remaining  flavery 
might  be  abolifhed,  as  the  paft  has  been.     A  com- 
panion of  different  nations    and  focieties,  already 
affords  full  demonftration  of  the  great  differences 
in  this  refpect  that  different  care  and  management 
will  create.     The  labouring  claffes  of  all  towns  are 
not  left  ignorant  of  every  principle  of  religion  and 
morality,  and  void   of  all  encouragement  to  prac- 
tife   economy  and  the  decencies  of  life.     To  the 
difgrace   of  this  enlightened  country,  it  has   been 
one  of  the  moft  remifs  in   attentions  of  this  fort ; 
but  I   truft  a  fpirit  is  awakened  which  will  fuffer  it 
to  be  fo  no  longer.     In  promoting  a  reform  of  this 
kind,  every    man,    however   contracted  his  fphere 
of  action,   is  able  to  advance   the  public  good  ;  but 
especially,  thofe  who  have  devoted  themfelves  to 
the  improvement  of  morals,   poffefs  both  the  abi- 
lity and  the  influence  requifite   for  the  work.     To 
you,  who  even  during  the   courfe    of  your  educa- 
tion exhibited  an   ardent  zeal  in  this  caufe,  I  need 
not    recommend  it  further,  than  by  expreffing  my 
confidence  that  your  attempts  will  not  fail  of  fuc- 
cefs,  if  not   fo  much  as  you  would   wifh,   perhaps 
more  than    you  would   expeft.      Evils,  no   doubt, 
moral  and  natural,  will  remain  as  long  as  the  world 
remains  ;  but  the    certainty   of  the  perpetual  ex- 


l6S  LETTER      IX. 

iflence  of  vice,  is  no  more  an  argument  againit 
attempting  to  correal  it,  than  the  fame  certainty 
with  refpecl  to  difeafe,  is  a  reafon  againil  exercifmg 
the  art  of  medicine, 

Adieu! 


(     i^9     J 


LETTER    XXI. 


ON    THE     PREVALENCE    OF    TRUTH, 


DEAR     SON, 


.1  Rir 


TH  is  mighty  and  will  prevail,"  is  the 
axiom  that  for  ages  has  adminiitered  confolation  to 
thofe  reafoners,  whofe  efforts  in  a  favourite  caufe 
have  not  been  crowned  with  prefent  fuccefs.  That 
the  foundation  of  this  axiom  is  folid,  I  am  by  no 
means  inclined  to  difpute  ;  and  far  be  it  from  me 
to  attempt  extingjaiming  that  hope,  which  has  pre- 
vented fo  many  generous  friends    of  mankind  from 

■  into  defpondency.  Yet  if  its  application 
hive  in  any  in  (lances  led  to  expectations  which 
'  >ly  can  never  be  realifed,  or  if  a  confident 
reliance  upon  it  have  damped  the  ardour  of  due 
exertion,  it  may  be  ufeful  to  reduce  it  within  the 
limits  of  ftri&  reality.  In  fact.,  the  aflertioa  that 
-;  truth  muft  always  finally  prevail,"  appears  to 
me  much  too  general,  and  not  to  be  aequiefced  in 

it   many    diftin&ions    and  limitations.      The 
grounds  of  fame  of  theie  will  be  the  fubjectof  my 
it  letter. 

? 


I^O  LETTER       XXI, 

Of  the  obflacles  to  the  prevalence  of  truth,  there 
are  fome  apparently  fo  connected  with  the  nature 
and  condition  of  man,  that  a  majority  of  the  fpe- 
cies  mull  ever  labour  under  their  influence.  Such 
are,  especially,  thofe  proceeding  from  the  opera- 
tion of  ungoverned  paffions  and  defires,  during 
which  the  mind  is  never  permitted  to  exercife  that 
calm  judgment  which  is  abfolutely  neceffary  for 
the  inveftigation  of  truth.  Every  fubjed  which 
flrongly  excites  the  emotions  of  hope  and  fear,  is 
liable  to  this  caufe  of  error.  The  medium  through 
which  it  is  viewed,  is  fo  ruffled,  that  it  tranfmits 
all  objects  falfe  and  diilorted.  In  cafes  like  thefe, 
the  fpeclcs  receives  no  improvement,  and  each  in- 
dividual has  the  whole  procefs  of  melioration  to 
go  through  for  himfetf.  He  mull  by  his  own  ex- 
ertions acquire  the  qae  regulation  of  his  heart,  as 
much  as  the  free  ufe  of  his  limbs,  and  the  attain- 
ments of  his  predeceffors  afford  him  no  afiiflance. 
As  a  man  born  in  the  eighteenth  century  is  no 
better  able  to  endure  cold,  hunger,  and  fatigue, 
than  one  born  in  the  firit,  fo  neither  can  he  better 
}  efilt  the  imprefnens  of  terror  and  defire. 

Now,  many  of  thofe  fubjecls  ia  which  falfe 
opinions  are  moil  prevalent,  lay  fuch  hold  on  the 
weak  parts  of  man,  his  pafnons  and  affections, 
that  he  is  in  general  incapacitated  from  making 
proper  ufe  of  the  experience  of  pail  ages,  and 
feems  doomed  to  run  a  perpetual  round  of  the 
Cams  follies  and  miflakes.     This  is  the  caufe  why 


PREVALENCE    OF    TRUTH.  I  7  I 

rcafon  has  not  been  able  to  do  more  in  abolifhing 
fuperftition.  Various  fpccies  of  it  have  occa- 
sionally been  rendered  unfashionable  by  ridicule  or 
detection  ;  but  the  principle  itfeif  ftiH  keeps  its 
bold  in  the  human  breafc,  ready  to  feize  every 
opportunity  of  regaining  all  the  influence  it  may 
have  loft.  In  countries  the  moil  enlightened  by 
fcience  and  letters,  it  is  wonderful  how  much  fu- 
perftition is  conftantly  lurking  among  the  vulgar 
of  all  ranks,  nay,  among  the  enlightened  them- 
felves  :  for  where  the  temper  difpefes  to  it,  both 
learning  and  fcience  may  be  made  to  afford  addi- 
tional materials  for  it  to  work  upon.  A  faith  in 
omens,  prophefies,  and  horofcopes,  in  fortunate 
names  and  numbers,  in  warnings  and  apparitions, 
in  fupernatural  cures,  and  other  fraudulent  pre* 
tendons  refpedling  the  principal  objects  of  hope 
and  fear,  is  no  more  likely  at  the  prefent  day  to 
be  eradicated,  than  it  was  at  any  former  period. 
Reafon  has  no  greater  power  over  thefe  delufions> 
than  the  Roman  fenate  had  over  the  influence  of 
the  Chaldean  foothfayers :  Genus  hominum  (fays 
Tacitus)  quod  in  civitate  noftra  et  vttabitur  fem- 
per,  et  retinebitur."  It  has  rendered  them  in  a 
certain  degree  discreditable,  and  reduced  them  to 
operate  more  in  fecret  than  formerly,  and  more 
individuals  have  been  freed  from  their  fway  ;  but 
he  mud  know  little  of  the  actual  ftate  of  things, 
who  fuppofes  their  prefent  influence  to  be  incon- 
iiderable,  or,  perhaps,  diminiming.  It  mi^ht,  in- 
P  2 


372  LETTER       XXI. 

deed,  be  imagined,  that  caufes  which  had  gra- 
du  illy  been  producing  a  certain  effect.,  might  con- 
fidently be  expected  to  go  en  producing  it  in  a 
greater  and  greater  degree  ;  but  I  fear  this  will  not 
be  found* to  eorrefpond  with  the  real  march  of  hu- 
raan  affairs,  which,  in  many  cafes,  more  refcmbles 
the  motion  of  a  pendulum,  which,  having  fwung  to 
a  certain  height,  thenceforth  moves  in  a  contrary 
direction.  Thus  it  feems  as  if  fuperftition,  after 
-  been  weakened  by  the  repeated  attacks  of 
wit3  and  philofophers,  was  at  prefeat  recQve  iag 
its  ftrength.  It  has  cbvioufly  met  with  encourage- 
ment from  perfons  of  fame  note,  who  have  pro- 
bably fe'en  a  connexion  between  that  Hate  of  mind 
which  makes  iaen  fubmiflive  to  fuperftitious  be- 
lief, and  the  docility  necefiary  for  the  recepti< 
fyitems  of  faith  which  they  were  intereffied  in 
fuoporting.  Myfteries  of  ah  icrts  are  allied,  and 
f    arp-uinsf    ferves    equally     in     fa- 


one   formula     o 


LfcUnig       ^:vo       t4Ufli:j 


vour  of  all — "  Beeaufe  there  are  certain  truths 
which  you  cannot  help  admitting,  though  appa- 
rently contradictory  to  reafon  and  analogy,  you 
have  no  rig]  t  t<  o]  jeer,  to  thofe  we  offer  you  on 
the  ground  of  fuch  contradiction."  Thus  ail  a 
conelufions  concerning  truth  and  falfehood 
are  intercepted,  and  mankind  are  left  to  contend 
in  each  individual  cafe  with  the  artifices  of  fophifm 
and  impofture. 

I  have  often  thought   it   a  very  hazardous  mode 
of  argument  which   the    friends  of  religion,    even 


PREVALENCE    OF    TRUTH.  1 73 

the  more  rational,  have  been  accuftomed  to  ufe  in 
their    controverfies    with    unbelievers.       "  If  (fay 
they)  there  be  no   providence,   no   future  ftate,  no 
obligation  to   divine  worfhip,    you    muft,  however, 
acknowledge  that  no  danger  can  enfue  from  acting 
as  if  there  were.     But  if,  en  the   contrary,    thefe 
things   are  real,  we   hold  that  there  is  the  greatefl 
of  all    dangers   in   acting    as  if  they    were    not." 
Confider  what  ufe  may    be  made  of  this    kind  of 
reafoning  by   papiils    againft   proteilants,    and    by 
the  narrower  fects   of  the  latter   againit   the   more 
liberal.     "  You  aknowledge   that   a   man  may   be 
faved  in  our   church  if  his  intentions  are   upright, 
and  his    morals  pure  ;   but    we  deny    that  falvaticn 
is   poffible   in   yours  on  any  conditions.      Common 
prudence  mould  therefore  induce  you  to  adopt  that 
which  both  parties    allow   to    be   fafe,   rather  than 
that   which    one    alone    (perhaps    the    leafl    nume- 
rous)   thinks    to   be   fo."       By    thus    introducing 
prudential    confideraticns   into    queflicns  of  truth, 
fe£s,    in    order    to     gain    profelytes,     are    encou- 
raged   to  become  as  dogmatical    and   uncharitable 
as    poffible,     and     to    aim     at    frightening     men 
into    their    narrow     pale    as    the    only     place     of 
refuge.       This,    in    fact,    is    an    advantage   which 
bigotry   has  long  poHefTcd,  and  probably   will  ever 
pofftfs,    over    moderation.       Exclufive   pretenfions, 
whether    reflecting    this     world    or    another,   will 
ever    find    powerful    f imports    in     the    hopes    and 
fears   of   msakind ;    a:.d   he   vho    ad£?effes   bbttf 
?3 


174  LETTER       XI :. 

thefe   paffions   will    act    with    double    the    • 
a  who  applies  only  to  one. 

For  a  fimflar  reafon,  all  thofe  fyftems  of  faith 
which  offer  men  eternal  felicity  upon  eafier  terms 
than  their  own  endeavours — that  fhift,  as  it  were, 
the  load  of  refponfibiiity  from  them,  upon  charac- 
ters of  myfterious  dignity,  who  are  to  be  repaid 
by  the  cheap  fenrices  of  unbounded  homage  and 
adoration — that  inculcate  fears  which  no  con- 
fcious  re&itude  can  calm,  and  nouriih  hopes 
that  no  felf-examination  can  warrant,  will  fcarcely 
fail  of  rendering  themfelves  acceptable  to  the 
multitude,  fo  long  as  they  are  fupported  by  fa- 
tisra&ory  authority.  And  how  is  this  autho- 
rity, once  received,  to  be  fhaken  ?  If  it  depend 
on  historical  evidence,  can  a  whole  people  be  ex- 
pected to  enter  into  an  examination  of  events  be- 
lieved at  the  time  of  their  palling,  and  delivered 
down  unqueftioned  through  many  generations  of 
their  '  anceflors  ?  Is  not  this  continuity  of  belief 
the  befl  evidence  they  poffefs  for  the  truth  of  all 
their  national  records  ?  If  it  refers  to  inter 
fion,  will  not  the  fame  arguments  which  have  de- 
termined the  general  fenfe  of  a  writing  in  times 
pad,  continue  to  operate  in  any  future  attempts 
to  interpret  it  ?  I  fuppofe,  in  this  cafe,  the  fame 
fair  intentions,  and  the  fame  collateral  aids,  to 
exift  in  both  periods. 

But  nations    have,    in    fact,   changed    their    fyf- 
tems.     They  have  ;   but  not,    I  conceive,  from  the 


PREVALENCE    OF    TR©TH.  I  7^ 

unaided    operation    of  roafon    and    argument.      In 
all  remarkable  changes  of   this  kind,    we  mail    dif- 
cover,  befides    the  more  immediate   interference  of 
divine  power,    fuch  a  concurrence  of  circumftances, 
as    was    capable    of  a    coercive  action  upon    men's 
minds,  and  which  cannot  at    pleafure   be  renewed 
by  thofe  who  may   wifli  to   produce    fimilar  effects. 
For  the  capability  of  receiving  truth,  there  mull 
always  be  certain   preparations.      I    do  not  reckon 
freedom  from   error  one   of  thefe,    for  then    truth 
would   be  abfolutely  unattainable  ;    no    man   being 
without    falfe  opinions,  who   had    not  already  im- 
bibed true    ones.      But    I    mean   certain    qualities, 
moral  and  intellectual ;    which  beftow  a    fitnefs   to 
be  acted    upon  by    argument.      One    of  the    mod 
euential  of  thefe,  is  the  fair  honeft   defire   of  dif- 
covering  the   truth,    and  following  whitherioever  it 
may  lead.      But  how  large  a  portion  of  mankind  is 
precluded  from  this  ftate   by  previoully  determined 
interefts   and  partialities !    How  few,    even   among 
the    pretended  enquirers  after  truth,   can  fay  with 
the  ever-memorable  John  Hales,   "  For  this,    I  have 
forfaken   all    hopes,  all   friends,   all   defires,    which 
might  bias  me,    and  hinder   me  from  driving  right 
at  what  I   aimed."      On  the  contrary,  are  we    not 
very  fure,    that  when  perfons  of  certain  defcriptiens 
engage  in  what  they  call  an  inveftigation  of  truth, 
they   have  before-hand  decided  what   conclufions  to 
eftablifh,  and    without   fuch  a  deciiion  would  never 
have  undertaken  the  tafk  ? 


I76  LETTER      XXI. 

Further,  how  much  diligence,  how  much  ftudy, 
what  freedom  from  difti  actions,  what  renunciation 
of  common  pltafures  and  purfuits,  are  not  necef- 
fary  for  the  fuccefsful  fearch  after  truth!  It  can 
be  little  lefs  than  the  whcle  bufmefs  of  a  man's 
life — "  Vitam  impendere  vero."  Ought  we  then 
to  blame  the  ancient  philofophers  when  they  limit- 
ed the  power  of  acquiring  intellectual  truth  to  a 
few,  and  propofed  it  as  the  noble  prize  to  be  con- 
tended for  by  a  number  felected  from  the  vulgar  ? 
Truth  of  no  kind  is  of  eafy  acquifition — that  truth, 
I  mean,  which  is  the  rcfult  of  examination  :  for 
true  opinions  Humbled  upon  by  chance,  and  only 
by  following  the  authority  of  great  names,  is  no 
certain  poffefiion,  and  will  readily  give  place  to 
error  more  highly  patronized.  Truth  in  fcience  is 
only  arrived  at  by  laborious  experiment  and  patient 
deduction.  Hiilorical  truth  requires  for  its  invef- 
tigation  perfect  impartiality,  and  an  acquaintance 
with  every  pofiible  inlet  to  fraud  and  miftake. 
Moral  truth  demands  a  heart  capable  of  feeling  it. 
Religious  truth  is  not  attained  without  an  union  of 
the  requifites  for  all  the  ether  fpecies  of  truth. 
Have  v.  e,  then,  any  well  grounded  rcafon  to  hope 
that  the  majority  of  mankind  will  ever  come  to  a 
general  perception  of  what  is  fo  obfeured  by  cb'fiU 
culties  in  the  detail  ? 

If  you  mould  think  the  doctrine  of  this  Liter 
fomevvhat  inconfiitent  with  my  former  one  On  tht 
furfuil  of  Improvement,  recclka,  thai  the  tesor  of 


PREVALENCE    OF     TRUTH.  I  77 

that  was  to  mew  the  natural  progress  'cowards   per- 
il in  every  practical  art  on   which   the   human 
faculties  arc  in  earned    employed — and    the  advan- 
tage to    be  derived  from  that  reference   to  general 
ch  is  properly  termed  philofophy*     To 
free   men    from    thofe    w:nk.:.rjs  of  their  nature 
which  oppofe  the  admiffion  of  abflracl  truth,   is   a 
liferent  attempt ;  which,    however,  is  not  to 
en  up  in  defpair  becaufe  it  cannot  be  fo  fuc- 
tl  as  we  would  wim. 
Truth    will  prevail — how  far?    As    far  as  it  is 
purfued  with  a  proper  temper,  and  by  perfons  pro- 
perly qualified.     Place  before   fuch   men  an   object 
of  controverfy  capable    of  being  decided  according 
to  truth.      But  that  falfe  opinions  on  fubje&a  which 
warmly  intereft  the  pafliona    of  mankind  will  ever 
ceafe   to  fway  the    multitude,  is  what  I  dare    not 
promife   myfelf.     A  fmgular  example   of  the   di£- 
:    fitnefs  of  diScrent  men   to  receive   truth  is 
sd  by  the  modern  impofture  of  shilmcl  Mag' 
t        i.     When  i:s  pretentions  were  f  ibmitted  to  a 
board    of  j 

clea   y  and  uhanimoi  limed.       Still,    how- 

ever, that  clafs  who  arc  the  proper  fubjects  of  de- 
ception were  deluded  by  its  bold  promifes,  and 
myfterious  reafonings  ;  and  among  them  the  de- 
lufion  in  fome  meafure  ftill  fubfiils.  It  cannot, 
however,  Hand  long  ;  but  its  votaries  will  remain 
jufl  as  prone  as  before  to  fall  into  another  plaufible 
dcluil  >u« 


1/3  LETTER       XXI. 

Meantime,  fach  is  the  intrinfic  value  of  truth, 
that  no  other  encouragement  is  wanted  to  animate 
to  the  vigorous  purfuit  of  it,  than  the  diilant  hope 
of  attaining  it  for  ourfelves,  and  propagating  it 
among  a  felect  few  ;  for  in  fail,  of  all  the  differ- 
ences between  mortals,  the  different  degree  in 
which  they  are  poffefibrs  of  truth  is  incomparably 
the  greated.  Nor  can  it  be  doubted  that  a  large 
mare  of  it  is  within  the  reach  of  man,  though  not 
of  all  men.  Like  the  inoculation  of  the  fmall  pox, 
it  confers  indifputable  benefits  on  thofe  who  re- 
ceive it ;  yet  too  few  will  probably  ever  receive  it 
to  produce  finking  effects  upon  the  whole  fpecies. 
Let  truth  be  fairly  offered  to  the  world  without  the 
veil  of  myftery,  in  her  own  naked  radiance.  If 
the  world  fail  to  recognize  her,  and  leave  her  to  a 
few  enamoured  votaries,  let  them  confole  them- 
felves  with  the  affurance  that  Truth,  like  Virtue,, 
js  her  own  reward. 

Farewel ! 


(     *79     ) 


LETTER    XXII. 


ON    SECOND    THOUGHTS    AND    MIDDLE     COURSES. 


DEAR    SON, 


"Si 


ECOND  Thoughts  are  beft,"  fays  a  frequent- 
ly-quoted proverb.  Confidered  as  a  prudential 
maxim,  its  truth,  I  believe,  cannot  be  controvert- 
ed ;  for  there  are  few  points  of  evil  to  be  avoided 
or  advantage  to  be  gained,  in  which  mature  deli- 
beration is  not  better  than  hafty  deciiion.  But 
that  they  are  be/I>  in  the  fenfe  of  being  more  con- 
formable to  moral  or  natural  truth,  in  my  opinion, 
is  fo  far  from  reality,  that  I  mould  more  readily 
acquiefce  in  a  proportion  nearly  the  reverfe — that 
Jirjl  impreihons  are  moft  to  be  relied  on.  This, 
however,  I  do  not  mean  to  aflert  without  limi- 
tation, 

Where  a  mind  is  well  prepared  for  the  reception 
of  truth,  by  rectitude  of  intention,  and  a  habit  of 
accurately  conceiving  what  is  prefented  to  it,  a 
queftion  of  moral  conduit  is  almoft  always  bell 
decided  by  the  feelings  immediately  confequent 
upon  ilating  the  cafe  ;  and  after-thoughts,  in  fuch 
LSances,  jjre   ufual'y  the  fophiHry   ci  felf-iiiterefl 


l8o  LETTER       XXII. 

or  partiality.  I  afk  myfelf,  fliall  I  make  a  foleran 
profeffion  of  what  I  do  not  believe.  No  !  ( cries 
indignantly  Firfl  Feeling) — better  to  ftarve  !  Come 
(fays  Second  Thought)  let  us  conhder  the  matter 
calmly  ;  for  there  are  many  reafons  why  it  would 
be  convenient  to  make  this  profeffion.  Examine 
its  words — fee  if  they  will  bear  no  other  fenfe 
than  the  moil  obvious.  At  any  rate,  will  not  the 
end  juftify  the  means  ?  It  then  begins  its  inge- 
nious operations,  and,  in  conclusion,  the  thing  is 
done. 

I  have  promifed  a  man  my  fupport— mall  I  keep 
my  woid  ?  Certainly  ?  Can  you  doubt  o£  it  ? 
\  1  you  be  a    rafcal  ?   But   I  wifh    I  could  dif- 

eng  age  myfelf,  for  really  I  do  not  like  the  man. 
His  politics  or  religion  are  different  from  what  I 
took  them  to  be  ;  and  I  mould  do  more  good  by 
difcouraging  him.  Befides,  every  promife  is  by 
its  v^ry  nature  conditional,  and  he  has  virtually 
broken  his  part  of  the  conditions.  Indeed  !  Then 
ufe  your  discretion. 

In  this  manner  it  is  that  ever)r  triumph,  in  a 
heart  not  vitiated,  is  gained  by  cowardice, 
meannefs,  and  feififhnefs,  over  fpirit,  honour,  and 
;.  ofity.  Confcience  is  never  dilatory  in  her 
warnings.  She  pronounces  clearly  and  initanily, 
and  her  fhft  voice  is  the  tnre  oracle.  By  prolix 
and  varied  repetitions  of  the  ration,  with  foreign 
■  iiances  introduced  i^r  the  p^rpofe  of  per- 
plexing,   the  refponfe    may    at   length  he  rendered 


SECOND    -THOUGHTS,    &c.  iHl 

almoft  any  thing  we  wfft  it,  and  confcience  may- 
be cheated  into  acquiescence  in  the  moll  abomina- 
ble conclufions.  It  is  thus,  that  in  our  corporeal 
mechanifm,  a  deleterious  fubftance  taken  into  the 
Jlomach,  excites  inflant  and  \ioIent  efforts  for  its 
expulfion  ;  but  after  a  due  repetition  of  dofes,  pro- 
perly proportioned  and  combined,  the  ftimulus 
c°afes  to  be  felt,  and  abhorrent  nature  becomes  re- 
conciled to  the  instrument  of  her  deflruCtion. 

It  was  upon  the  fyftem  of  Second  Thoughts  that 
the  famous  morality  of  the  Jefuits  was  founded. 
They  eftablifhed  it  as  a  rule,  that  in  a  cafe  of  con- 
science, if  a  probable  opinion,  or  one  fupported  by 
the  authority  of  a  Jingle  grave  doctor,  could  be 
brought  in  favour  of  inclination,  againft  an  opi- 
nion confelfedly  more  probable,  it  was  fufEcient  to 
juftify  a  determination  conformable  to  it.  And 
they  took  good  care  that  their  eafuifts  mould  be 
furniihed  with  probable  opinions  of  all  forts  for  the 
life  of  tliofe  who  put  their  confeiences  under  the 
direction  of  the  fociety.  The  following  edifying 
ilory  is  related  by  one  of  their  graved  fathers,  from 
whom  it  k  copied  In  the  celebrated  Provincial  Let- 
/e;v.  "  A  man  who  was  carrying  a  large  fum  of 
money  in  order  to  make  reftitutioa  by  command  of 
his  confeflbr,  called  at  a  bookfeHey's  (hop  by  iliz 
way,  and  aiding  if  they  had  any  thing  new,  was 
ihewa  a  nczu  fyjltm  of  Moral  Theology.  Turning 
oyer  the  leaves  cai  lefsry,  he  happened  to  light  on 
l±v->  own  cafe,  and  -        he  was  not  ofelig    ,  : 


j82  LETTER        XXII. 

reftitution ;  fo  that  having  got  rid  of  the  burden 
of  his  fcruple,  and  retaining  the  burden  of  his 
money,  he  returned  home  lighter  than  he  went 
out."  Such  lucky  occafions  of  fccond  thought,  the 
pious  author  attributes  to  the  fpecial  interference 
of  God's  providence,  by  the  miniilry  of  a  man's 
guardian  angel. 

The  fpeediefl  decifions  of  Reafon,  as  well  as  of 
Conference,  are  frequently  the  foundeft.  Extrava- 
gant projects,  abfurd  proportions,  impudent  pre- 
tentions, are  rejected  with  fcorn  when  firft  offered 
to  the  mind  ;  and  it  is  only  in  confequence  of  re- 
hearings,  at  which  fraud  and  fophiftry  are  advo- 
cates, with  wiles,  hke  thofe  of  Comus,  "  baited 
with  reafons  not  unplaufible,"  that  they  at  length 
work  their  way.  Many  high  claims  there  are  upon 
our  acquiefcence,  which  the  foul  of  man  wculd 
fpurn  with  contempt  and  loathing,  did  it  abide  by 
its  fpontaneous  decifions.  It  may  be  affirmed  to 
have  been  the  chief  buflnefs  of  fcholaftic  learning 
for  many  ages,  to  itiiie  this  voice  of  unbiafTed  rea- 
fon,  and  inure  men  to  form  determinations  con- 
trary to  firft  convictions.  Hew  many  mighty  vo- 
lumes could  I  point  out  to  you,  the  whole  purpofe 
of  which  is  to  reconcile  the  mind  to  forne  manifeft 
contradiction,  or  to  difprove  fome  felf-evident  truth  ! 
I  remember  to  have  read,  that  in  the  condemnation 
of  feme  Janfenift  bock,  the  heretical  proportions 
were  fo  injudicioufly  fele&ed,  that  a  great  prince, 
into  whofe  hands  they  were  put,  miftook  them  for 


SECOND    THOUGHTS,    &C.  l8$ 

articles  of  faith,  and  was  edified  by  the  perufal. 
Can  it  be  doubted  that  here  the  text  was  nearer  the 
truth  than  the  comment,  and  that  the  prince  judged 
better  than  Ae  doctors  ?  I  have  known  inftances, 
in  which  pofitions  felecied  out  of  a  political  work 
for  the  purpof?  of  obtaining  its  judicial  condemna- 
tion, have  affected  impartial  readers  in  a  fimilar 
manner. 

By  thefe  observations,  however,  I  am  far  from 
wifhing  to  inculcate  a  hafty  decifion  on  controvert- 
ed points  in  general.  Where  the  queflion  relates 
to  matter  of  fact,  a  very  patient  inveiligation  is 
frequently  neceffary.  Where  it  concerns  a  matter 
of  expedience,  it  cannot  be  fafely  decided  without 
minutely  balancing  its  probable  advantages  and  dis- 
advantages, and  consulting  pail  experience  in  fimi- 
lar cafes.  But  where  it  refers  to  principles,  and 
mufl  be  tried  by  its  conformity  with  certain  notions, 
if  not  innate,  at  leaf):  early  and  very  generally  ad- 
mitted into  the  human  breaft,  it  is  probably  belt 
judged  of  when  prefented  naked  to  the  mind,  un- 
mixed with  extraneous  confederations,  and  with 
no  other  preparation  than  to  render  it  perfectly  in- 
teffigible. 

M  The  middle  way  is  the  fafeft,"  fays  another 
common  proverb.  If  this  was  adopted  from  the 
"  medio  tutiffimus  ibis"  of  Ovid,  it  fliould  have 
been  remembered  that  his  was  a  particular  precept, 
not  a  general  maxim.  In  reality,  the  middle  courfe 
h  very  often  the  woril  that  can   be  followed  in  afr 


I§4  LETTER        7.1\l. 

fairs  of  the  work!,  eombmming  the  inconveniences, 
and  mi'fmg  the  advantages,  of  the  two  extremes. 
It  is  eoifcmonfy  the  paltry  expedient  of  wcaknefs 
and  indecifion  to  get  over  prefent  difficulties,  by  de- 
clining infk-ad  cf  confronting  their.— a  compro- 
mife  between  right  atod  wrong,  between  wifdeni 
and  folly-,  between  enterprize  and  indolence,  which 
y;.n:7:Jlj  meets  with  the  fate  of  imbecuiry.  In 
inct  emergencies,  two  directly  oppefte  fyrkrr.s  of 
action  prefent  themfelves  to  our  choice.  Each  has 
its  appropriated  character,  its  favourable  and  unfa- 
vourable circumftances.  Each  may  fucceed  ;  but 
only  when  followed  tvllj  and  decidedly.  Every 
kaaifig  towards  its  oppofite  adds  to  its  difficulties, 
and  endangers  its  failure.  This  cnr.net  be  better 
ihuf.rated  than  by  military  transactions.  A  Gene- 
ral finds  himfelf  unexpectedly  in  face  of  a  fuuerior 
eoemy-  He  has  no  choice  but  to  fight  or  retire; 
but  the  movements  for  each  are  incompatible  ;  one 
t  .  ..Yes  bold  advance,  the  other,  filent  retreat. 
One,  however,  appears  to  him  too  hazardous,  and 
the  other,  too  difgraeeful.  lie  therefore  takes  a 
middle  courfc,  in  confequence  of  which  he  fights 
to  no  purpofe,  and  his  retreat  is  intercepted. 

One  cannot  be  at  all  converfant  with  bufme'fs, 
without  feeing  perpetual  inihmces  of  the  mifchief 
done  by  this  fpirit  of  throwing  in  a  little  of  this, 
and  a  little  of  that,  in  order  to  fecure  a  medium. 
A  perfon  in  a  public  affembly  propofec  a  vigorous 
meafure,    and     after    feme     oppofition,    carries  it. 


SECOND    THOUCHTS,    &C.  1 83 

Some  weak  friend  or  defigning  foe,  up  en  the 
plea  of  preventing  extremes,  then  offers  a  few  mo- 
difications and  rcftrictions,  of  a  nature  directly 
iubverfive  of  the  purpofe  intended  to  be  anfwered 
by  the  lirft  mover  ;  and  thefe,  and  for  the  fake  of  ac- 
commodation, are  affented  to  by  the  majority  :  thus 
the  whole  fcheme  is  rendered  ineffectual.  In  a  fi- 
milar   fpirit,   arbitrators  fplit   a  difference,    and  do 

juftice  to  neither  party juries   bi-ing  in  verdicts 

which  determine  nothing,  and  leave  the  court  t6 
act  as  it  pleafes — confutations  of  learned  phyficians 
neutralise  their  plans  fo  as  to  do  neither  geed  nor 
harm — and  divines  play  off  one  virtue  ageiinfi  ano- 
ther, till  they  make  their  hearers  indifferent  to 
both. 

Truth  may,  perhaps,  in  general,  lie  fomewhere 
within  oopofite  extremes  ;  but  it  is  a  grefs  weaknefa 
to  e::pe£t  to  lind  it  by  the  mechanical  operation  of 
Li.jfting  a  line,  or  calculating  an  average.  Even 
in  cafes  where  we  -axe/are  that  the  two  extremes 
are  erroneous,  as  in  the  reprefentation  of  the  fame 
character  by  adverfe  parties,  it  is  a  futile  method  of 
g  of  particular  actions,  to  balance  the  con- 
trary motives  to  which  they  have  been  attributed, 
and  ftxike  a  medium.  It  is  not  in  this  manner  that 
good  and  evil  are  compounded  in  mankind. 

The   controversial    who   thinks,    by    ad 
fomewhat    from    one  £yftem,    and    fomewhat    from 
another,    to  fix  himfelf  or.  firm   ground,  and   held 
ODDofite  partie    ii   i   t  e£fcs  will  generally  find  that 


I  gft  LETTER      XXlf. 

he  has  united  both  againft  him,  and  has  weakened 
his  defences  on  either  part.  I  could  adduce  many 
inftances  to  (hew  you,  that  in  the  contefts  of  theo- 
logical polemics,  the  middle  way  is  as  far,  as  it  is 
in  real  warfare,  from  being  the  fafeft.  The  acute 
Chillingworth  could  not  find  a  barrier  againft 
popery,  till  he  had  eftablifhed  as  a  fundamental 
maxim,  that  the  Bible  is  the  only  ground  of  the  religion 
of  Protejlants.  He  perceived,  that  if  church  autho- 
rity were  admitted'  as  any  thing  in  the  controverfy, 
the  papift  would  be  too  hard  for  him, 

Thus  you  fee  that  proverbial  fayings,  the  boafted 
wifdom  of  ages,  are  not  to  be  trufted  without  exa- 
mination. Aphorifms,  in  general,  indeed,  are  but 
dangerous  guides.  The  greater  part  of  them  have 
been  formed  not  fo  much  from  the  refults  of  uni- 
verfal  reafon  and  experience,  as  from  the  authority 
of  individuals  in  the  infancy  of  both.  A  few  ex- 
amples went  to  eflablim  a  rule,  and  the  exceptions 
flood  for  nothing,  till  at  length  they  have  often  been 
found  more  numerous  than  the  exemplifications. 

Farewel  t 


(     i67     ) 


LETTER     XXIIT. 


ON    THE    PRINCIPAL    FAULTS    OF    POETICAL 
TRANSLATION. 


X  N  order  to  affilt  you  in  deciding  for  yourfelf  the 
queftion  you  afk  me  refpecting  the  comparative  me- 
rits of  Pope's  and  Cowper's  tranflation  of  Homer, 
I  fhall  lay  before  you  fome  remarks  on  the  chief 
purpofes  and  principal  faults  of  poetical  tranflation, 
which  fuggefted  themfelves  to  my  mind  in  the 
courfe  of  my  earlier  reading. 

As  the  great  end  of  all  poetry  is  to  pleafe,  that  of 
a  poetical  tranflation  muft  in  the  firft  inftance  be 
the  fame.  But  befraes  this  general  purpofe,  it  has 
the  additional  one  of  gratifying  a  laudable  defire  in 
th«  reader  who  does  not  underftand  the  original,  of 
gaining  fome  idea  how  perfons  thought  and  wrote 
in  an  age  or  country  often  very  diftant  from  his 
own.  Hence  arifes  a  neceility  cf  preferving,  not 
Only  the  fubjecl;  matter  and  the  poetical  beauties  of 
an  original  author,   but  as  much  as  can  be  done  of 


I5b  LETTER       XXII. 

his  peculiar  turn  of  thinking  and  mode  of  expref- 
fion.  All  the  great  /check  of  arts  and  letters  are 
marked  with  a  peculiar  {lamp  of  character,  derived 
from  the  manners  and  circumftances  of  the  time 
and  country,  which  are  an  interefting  fubjecx  of 
Speculation.  The  tranflator,  therefore,  who  fails 
to  reflect  an  image  of  his  original,  with  its  charac- 
tenftic  diilincrions,  though  he  may  prefent  us  with 
a  figure  graceful  and  pleafmg  in  itfelf,  has  not  per- 
formed his  talk  completdy. 

One  of  the  leading  faults  of  poetical  translation 
from  the  works  of  antiquity  has  been  of  this  kind. 
Our  manners  and  entiments  have  become  fo  very- 
different  from  thofe  of  remote  ages,  that  the  two 
purpofes  of  translating  agreeably  and  faithfully, 
can  with  great  difficulty  be  made  to  coincide.  And 
as  the  fivft  wifh  of  every  writer  is  to  be  read,  he 
will  naturally  be  led  to  prefer  that  mode  of  transla- 
ting which  will  make  his  work  the  moft  generally 
-able.  He  will  therefore  rather  ftudy  to  bring 
it  nown  to  the  tafce  of  his  own  rimes,  than  to  carry 
his  reader  back  to  thofe  which  have  been  long  for* 
gotten.  Nor  can  we  blame  hiin  for  fach  an  accom- 
modation to  the  feelings  of  Lis  cotemj  eraries  as  is 
try  to  Secure  his  main  end  of  pleating.  The 
fault  is,  that  this  defign  is  v.fur.'ly  earned  much  far- 
ther than  is  necefTaryj  and  fo  for  asalmoft  entirely 
to  defeat  the  ether  porpofe  of  translation. 

In  translating  an  author  who  lived  in  a  rude  ana 
vncuhivated  period,   two  kinds  cf  accommodation 


POETICAL    TRANSLATION'.  1  89 

■y.     The  one  confifts  in  foftening  or  fup- 

prefiing  fuch  images  and  expreffions  as  would  give 

ft  to  a  mod*   A    reader}  the   other,   in   railing 

and  adorning  fuch  parts  as  fro:  ireme  um- 

would  appear  to  him  rude  and  infipid.     Beth 

fliefe  niuft  bo   done   to  a  certain  degree  ;   but 

e  much  caution  and  judgment.  The  latter, 
in  particular,  is  a  hazardous  attempt,  demanding 
a  more  chaftifed  and  eorreet  telle  for  its  proper 
execution  ;  and  I  am  fnrprifed  at  the  unguarded 
latitude  which  fo  rational  a  critic  as  Dr.  Johrrfon 
allows  in  this  point.  Speaking  of  Pope's  Iliad;  he 
(ays,  "  Homer  doubtlefs  owes  to  his  tranflator 
many  Onridian  graces  no':  exactly  fa'nble  to  his 
character  ;  but  to  have  added  can  Be  no  great  crime, 
if  nothing  he  taken  away"  What  !  can  there  be  a 
groffer  violation  of  every  principle  of  tafte  and 
good  fenfe,  than  to  make  wanton  additions  to  a  wri- 
ter's work  in  a  ft  rle  totally  different  from  his  own 
and  that  of  the  whole  age  in  which  he  lived  : 
What  is  this  but  introducing  utter  confufion  cf 
times  and  manners  into  the  reader's  ideas,  and 
bringing  all  the  ftriliing  variety  cf  literary  com- 
pdfition  to  one  uniform  meafure  of  urimeaning  re- 
finement ? 

That  this  effect  has  been  actually  produced  by 
Pope's  fpirit  of  tranflation,  may  eafily  be  (hewn  m 
various  parts  of  his  works  and  thofe  of  his  imita- 
tors, and  efpecially  in  that  partnership  concern^ 
hia  Cdv/pv.     The  original   poem  is,  in  my  opinion, 


I|)0  LETTER      XXIII. 

almoft  folely  valuable  from  the  curious  pictures  it 
difplays  of  the  ftate  of  focicty,  both  public  and 
dornellic,  at  the  period  to  which  it  refers.  It  was 
therefore  eflential  to  preferve  thefe  in  their  genuine 
and  charafteriftic  colouring;  and  no  graces  cf  mo- 
dern decoration  could  atone  for  the  want  of  this 
point  of  refemblance  in  the  copy*  Nothing  is  a 
more  frequent  topic  in  the  notes  of  this  translation^ 
than  the  pleafure  derived  from  fcenes  of  fimple 
nature ;  and  many  cenfures  are  pafTed  upon  the 
Jaflidious  delicacy  of  French  critics  who  are  fhock- 
cd  with  the  plain  unrefined  manners  of  Homer's 
perfonages.  But  it  is  impoflible  to  violate  f; mpli- 
city  more  outrageoufly  than  has  been  done  by  the 
Englifh  tranfiator,  efpecially  of  lbme  of  the  books  ; 
and  I  am  forry  that  the  book  containing  the  adven- 
ture of  Nauficaa,  one  of  the  mofl  pleating  in  the 
whole  poem,  is  of  the  number  thus  traveftied.  It 
is  among  thofe  afcribed  to  Broome,  but  Pope  is 
anfwerable  for  the  workmanfhip  of  his  journeymen. 
Of  this  fault,  I  mail  felecl;  a  few  ftriking  examples, 
after  premiiing  a  remark  on  one  of  its  principal 
fources. 

All  the  words  appertaining  to  royalty,  as  ling, 
prince,  court,  palace,  &c  have  fo  long  conveyed 
to  the  minds  of  civilized  people  ideas  of  dig- 
nity and  grandeur,  that  it  is  difficult,  even  for  a 
philofopher,  to  hear  them  with  thofe  impreffions 
only  which  they  excited  in  the  early  flages  p£  fo- 
ciety.    Yet  without  fuch  a  kind  of  ab  fraction,  it 


POETICAL    TRANSLATION.  I9! 

18  evident  that  the  circumflances  with  which  fuch 
terms  are  affociated  in  relations  of  primitive  life 
muft  frequently  appear  highly  incongruous,  and 
produce  the  effect  of  burlefque.  The  only  means 
of  avoiding  this  confequence  in  modern  views  of 
antiquity  are,  either  to  lower  the  ideas  of  royalty, 
or  to  exalt  the  dignity  of  the  fimple  manners  with, 
which  it  was  then  accompanied.  The  former  is 
the  mcft  effectual,  and  indeed  the  true  method  ; 
for  if  we  were  taught  to  conceive  of  a  king  of 
Ithaca  as  of  a  chief  in  the  Sandwich  Iflands,  or  an 
Indian  Sachem,  we  mould  not  be  furprifed  to  find 
the  fwineherd  one  of  his  principal  officers  and  con- 
fidants. But  what  is  then  to  become  of  the  ele- 
vated character  of  the  epoposa,  and  how  are  we  to 
be  interefted  in  the  fate  of  heroes  of  fo  low  a  clafs  ? 
Our  translator  has  therefore  taken  the  contrary  me- 
thod, and  labours  to  throw  an  artificial  veil  of  ma- 
jefty  over  things  in  their  own  nature  mean  and  tri- 
vial. Thus  when  Eumasus  is  introduced  making 
himfelf  a  pair  of  brogues  out  of  a  raw  hide,  we 
are  told  In  the  note,  "  that  we  mull  not  judge  of 
the  dignity  of  men  from  the  employments  they 
followed  three  thoufand  years  paft,  by  the  notions 
we  have  of  thofe  employments  at  prefent  ;"  and 
this  admonition  is  followed  by  fome  obfervations  on 
the  dignity  of  arts  in  their  infancy,  and  on  the 
cookery  of  Achilles,  and  on  the  cuftom  of  the 
Turkiih  emperors  to  learn  fome  mechanic  trade. 
>Jow  what  is  this  but  a  laboured  attempt  to  delude  ? 


l<$2  LETTER      XXIII. 

The  real  dignity  cf  any  condition  can  only  depend 
on  the  qualities  requiiite  to  fill  it,  or  the  habits  of 
thinking  and  acting  acquired  in  exercifing  its  func- 
tions. A  keeper  of  fvvine  and  maker  of  moes  mult 
ever  derive  his  manners  and  ideas  from  the  flye  or 
the  workfhop ;  and  his  relative  confequence  in 
any  fociety  only  exhibits  the  relative  advance  of 
that  fociety  in  power  and  civilization.  Can  any 
thing  therefore  be  more  abfurd,  than  a  remark  of 
the  fame  annotator,  on  the  circumftance,  that  Me- 
lanthius  the  goatherd,  bringing  a  fupply  of  meat 
to  the  fuitors,  is  made  to  fit  at  table  with  them  ? 
"  We  may  gather  from  hence  the  truth  of  an  ob- 
fervation  formerly  made,  that  Melanthius,  Ell* 
mams,  &c.  were  Pcrjlns  of  difiinSlen.,  and  their  offices 
pajis  cf  honour  :  we  fee  Mtlanthius  who  had  charge 
of  the  goats  of  UlyfTes  i3  a  companion  for  princes." 
This  fame  Melanthius,  jnffc  before,  on  meeting 
with  Eumaeus,  is  by  Homer  reprefented  as  infulting 
him  in  the  groileft  terms,  and  telling  this  perfon  of 
diftingion  that  he  mall  foon  have  to  carry  him  out 
of  the  ifl and  and  fell  him  for  a  (lave.  That  fuch 
men  were  made  companions  by  the  fuitors,  is  in- 
deed a  proof  how  little  the  fuitors  were  elevated 
above  them,  but  furely  does  not  prove  that  the 
goatherd  and  fwineherd  were  any  thing  more  than 
goatherds  and  fwineherds. 

This  incongruous  alliance  of  modern  jdeas  ?,&%.- 
ed  to  the  terms  of  royalty,  with  the  cii-curnftances 
antiently  annexed  to    the    office,    has    contributed 


POETICAL    TRANSLATION'.  193 

more  than  any  thing  to  give  a  ludicrous  air  to  many 
))  foges  of  Pope's  OdyfTey,  and  to  miflead  the  E  ig- 
liih  reader  in  his  notions  of  the  Hate  of  manners 
in  that  period.  Thus,  when  Minerva  in  a  dream 
tells  Nauiicaa  to  prepare  for  her  nuptials,  for  that 
the  be:l  among  the  Phocacians,  her  kinfmen,  have 
for  fome  time  been  paying  their  court  to  her,  the 
tranilator  metamorphofes  fcfaefe  petty  chieftains  iatv 
fo  many  potent  kings. 

Virgin,  awake  !  thy  marriage  hour  is  nigh, 

See  from  their  thrones  thy  kindred  monarchs  figh. 

The  preparation  for  this  royal  wedding  was  that 
the  prhiccfs  mould  fpend  a  day  in  warning  her  foul 
clothes,  and  (lie  is  admonifhed  by  the  Goddefs  to 
afk  from  her  father  a  carnage  drawn  by  mules, 
"  for  (fays  me  with  great  fimplicity  )  it  will  be  hand- 
fomer  for  you  to  ride  than  to  walk,  as  the  warning 
pits  are  at  a  good  dlftance  from  the  town."  A 
fearcher  after  real  manners  will  be  pleafed  with  this 
ftroke  of  nature  in  uncultivated  life  ;  but  he  can 
only  be  difgufzed  by  the  tranflator's  buriefijue  at-* 
tempt  at  difguifmg  it. 

In  poinp  ride  forth,  for  pomp  becomes  the  Great, 
And  Majefty  der  ves  a  gra^e  from  ft  ate. 

Nauficaa  and  her  maids  mount  this  "  royal  car" 

or   wain  loaded  with   foul  clothes  ;   and  her  careful 

mother  puts  good   ilore    of  proviiion   into    a  chefl, 

ills  a  goat-ik;:i  with  wine.     They  likewife  take 

R 


1.94  LETTER      XXIII. 

a  golden  cruife  full  of  oil,  that  they  might  anoint 
themfelves  after  the  work  was  over.  Thefe  fim- 
ple  circumflances  are  thus  dreffed  out  by  the  tranf? 
lator. 

The  Queen,  affiduous,  to  her  train  affigns 
The  fumptuous  viands  and  the  feverous  wines. 
The  train  prepare  a  cruife  of  curious  mold, 
A  cruife  of  fragrance,  form'd  of  burnirh'd  gold  ; 
Odour  divine,  whole  foft  refrefhing  ftreams 
Sleek  the  fmooth  fkin,  andfeentthe  fnowy  limbs. 

In  this  flyle  is  the  whole  adventure  related  ;  and, 
while  actions  and  difcourfes  denoting  the  very  in- 
fancy of  civilization  pafs  in  review  before  you,  the 
language  perpetually  excites  images  derived  from 
the  courts  of  modern  Europe.  Where  Nauiicaa 
in  Homer  tells  UlyfTes  that  he  will  find  her  mother 
fitting  on  the  hearth  within  the  blaze  of  the  fire, 
leaning  againil  a  pillar,  the  tranflator  fays  for 
her, 

Seek  thou  the  Queen  along  the  rooms  of  (late  j 

and  where  the  original  goes  en  to  fay,  that  her 
maids  (ufing  a  word  properly  meaning  female  flaves) 
are  fitting  behind  her,  the'politer  copy  gives  her  an 
attendance  of  ladies  cf  honour  ; 

Around  a  circle  of  bridii:  damfels  fiiines. 

This  is  fufRcient  to  exemplify  tint  common  fault 
cf  modern  translation,  difguifirig  the  original  by  a 


POETICAL    TRANSLATION.  I95 

fictitious  colouring.  It  is,  I  conceive,  when  car- 
ried to  the  degree  of  the  examples  above  cited,  a 
fault  of  the  greateft  magnitude,  depriving  the 
reader  of  the  amufement  and  information  he 
would  receive  from  a  true  reprefention  of  an- 
cient modes  of  thinking  and  fpeaking,  and  giving 
him  nothing  inftead  but  an  incongruous  mixture 
of  fioiplicity  in  aflion  with  refinement  in  lan- 
guage. 

Another  fault  in  tranflation,  generally  rc- 
companying  the  former,  though  of  fomewhat 
different  origin,  is  the  fpirit  of  exaggeration 
and  hyperbole,  which  conftantly  endeavours  to 
improve     upon     the     orisrinal     imasre      or     fenti* 


*& 


ment  by  pnfhing  it  to  an  extravagance  beyond 
the  bounds  of  truth  and  propriety.  This  is 
fo  frequent  an  error,  that  it  would  be  eafy 
to  multiply  examples  of  it  from  even  our  moil 
celebrated  writers.  Dryden's  tranflation  of  Vir- 
gil abounds  with  it.  Thus,  in  the  ftory  of 
Cacus,  when  Herculus  rolls  down  upon  his  cave 
the  fragment  of  a  rock,  the  Roman  poet  thinks  it 
Sufficient  to  fay,  "  that  the  wide  ether  refounded, 
and  the  affrighted  river  rolled  backwards."  But 
D ry den  makes  the  river  fairly  fink  into  the  ground, 
and  the  fky  equally  terrified,  run,  no  one  can  tell 
whither ! 

The  fky  flirunk  upwards  with  unufual  dread, 
£nd  trembling  Tiber  div'd  beneath  his  bed, 

R  2 


ig6  LETTER      XXIII. 

Thus,  too,  where  Virgil  fays  no  more  than  that 
Turnis  lopt  off  a  warrior's  head  at  a  blow,  and  left 
the  trunk  on  the  fand,  Dryden  adds, 

the  Lntin  fields  are  Hrunk 

With  ftreamsthat  iflued  from  the  bleeding  trunk. 

But  the  moll  ludicrous  hyperbole  of  this  kind 
that  I  have  met  with,  is  in  Howe's  tranilation  of 
the  Pharfalia.  Luean,  defcribing  an  army  reduced 
to  great  (traits  for  want  of  provifion,  reprefents  the 
foldijrs,  after  having  eaten  the  fields  quite  bare,  a3 
plucking  with  their  teeth  the  withered  herbs  from 
their  ramparts.  This  is  extravagant  enough,  ac- 
cording to  his  ufual  manner ;  but  his  translator  far 
outdoes  him  ; 

Then  rav'nous  en  their  camp's  defence  they  fall, 
And  grind  with  greedy  jaws  the  turfy  wail. 

It  is  confidering  this  fault  of  translation  in  too 
favourable  a  light  to  charge  it  upon  an  exuberant 
warmth  of  imagination,  beyond  the  control  of 
judgment.  This  might  in  feme  meafure  have 
been  the  cafe  with  a  Dryden  ;  but  a  writer  cf  the 
coldeft  imagination  may  eaiily,  from  the  (lores  of 
poetical  phrafeology,  borrow  flowers  of  hyperbole 
to  interweave  at  random  into  the  tiiTue  of  a  gaudy 
tranilation,  where  he  is  at  no  expence  for  original 
ideas.     This  frVure  is  indeed  the  moil  common  with 

o 

the  moil  ordinary  writers.     Pope,  as  far  as  I  have 
remarked,  is  extremely  fparing  in  its  life ;  while 


POETICAL    TRANSLATION.  197 

his  coadjutors  Broome  and  Fenton  feem  to  think  it 
the  very  characteriftic  of  poetical  language.  A  line 
of  the  latter  in  the  fourth  book  of  the  Odyffey  will 
amuie  you.  It  is  part  of  the  defcription  of  the 
palace  of  Menelaus. 

Above,  beneath,  around  the  palace  (bines 
The  fumlefs  trcafureof  exhauiled  mines. 

With  refpect  to  the  prolixity,  the  unmeaning 
fuperfluities,  and  the  conftrained  exprefiions,  fo 
commonly  to  be  met  with  in  tranflations,  as  they 
indicate  mere  want  of  poetical  talents,  they  are 
fcarcely  objects  of  criticifm.  They  are  evidently 
much  increafed  by  the  ufe  of  rhyme,  which  ag- 
gravates all  the  difficulties  of  bringing  the  fenfe  of 
the  tranflation  into  a  form  and  compafs  refembling 
that  of  the  original.  Yet  as  long  as  rhyme  is  more 
pleaiing  to  the  readers  of  Englifh  poetry  in  general 
than  blank  \cr{e,  I  would  not  affert  that  tranflation 
ought  to  be  deprived  of  its  aid,  more  than  original 
compoiition.  It  never  fhould  be  forgotten,  that  the 
firft  purpofe  of  writing  is  to  he  read;  and  that  i£ 
this  be  not  anfwered,  a  book  may  be  an  addition  to 
the  furniture  of  a  library,  without  being  any  to  the 
feeck  of  literary  amufement  in  a  country.  By  this 
criterion,  after  all,  every  performance  muft  be  tried; 
not,  indeed,  by  merely  counting  the  number  of  its 
readers,  but  by  eftimating  the  pleafure  derived  from 
it  by  thofe  who  from  habit  and  education  are  belt 
prepared  for  fuch   enjoyments.      Many  of  the  po- 

8-  3 


59S  LETTER      XXIII. 

etical  writings  of  antiquity  are,  I  believe,  incapable 
of  pleafing  in  a  translation,  upon  whatever  plan  it 
be  conducted.  When  a  man  of  true  genius  is  led 
to  engage  in  fuch  a  tafk,  we  are  bound  rather  to 
lament  the  wafte  of  his  powers,  than  to  wafte  our 
own  time  in  trying  to  relifh  the  fruit  of  his  injudi- 
cious labours, 

Adieu! 


(     '99     } 


LETTER    XXIV. 


ON    RUINS. 


A  DO  not  wonder,  my  dear  Son,  at  the  enthti- 
fiafm  with  which  you  relate  your  vifit  to  the  cele- 
brated ruins  of  Abbey.     The  natural 

charms  of  the  fcenery  in  the  midft  of  which  they 
are  placed,  their  own  intrinfic  majefty  and  beauty, 
the  rarity  of  fuch  a  fpectacle,  and  the  train  of  ideas 
affociated  with  it,  all  contribute  to  render  it  one  of 
the  moll  interefting  objects  of  a  traveller's  curiofi- 
ty.  I  cannot  but  think,  however,  that  the  extraor- 
dinary pafiion  for  ruins  of  every  kind  which  at  pre- 
fent  prevails,  has  in  it  a  good  deal  of  the  rage 
of  a  predominant  fafhion,  and  goes  beyond  all 
bounds  of  fober  judgment.  And  as  in  a  former 
letter  I  ventured  to  appreciate  another  point  of  mo- 
dern taile,  with  which  this  is  coniiderably  connect- 
ed, the  new  ftyle  of  gardening,  I  fha!l,  in  this, 
canvafs  fome  of  the  principles  on  which  our  admi- 
ration of  ruins  is  founded. 

The  firft  impreffion  made  by  the  view  of  a  mafs 
of  rubs  can  fcarcely  in  any  country  have  been  of 


20O  LETTER      XXIV. 

the  pleafmg  kind.  It  muft  have  been  that  of  wafte 
and  defolation — of  decayed  art  and  loft  utility.  If 
the  "  fmiling  works  of  man"  in  their  perfect  Hate 
were  always  objects  of  delight,  their  forlorn  and 
dilapidated  condition  mull  have  excited  melancholy 
emotions.  Thus  we  find  that  the  horrors  of  the 
howling  wildernefs  were  in  the  poetical  reprefenta- 
tions  of  the  earlieft  writers  aggravated  by  the  pic- 
ture of  ruined  edifices  ;  nor  can  we,  I  imagine, 
difcover  in  all  antiquity,  traces  of  any  other  ideas 
alfociated  with  thefe  fpectacles.  But  melancholy 
itfelf  is  a  fource  of  pleafure  to  a  cultivated  mind, 
and  images  of  grandeur  and  fublirrity  rife  to  the 
fancy  on  contemplating  the  operation  of  fome 
mighty  caufe,  whofe  effects  do  not  too  nearly  in- 
terelt  us.  Hence  the  refined  tafte  of  modern  times 
occupied  at  leifure  in  extracting  from  every  object 
the  whole  fum  of  fentiment  it  is  capable  of  afford- 
ing, has  attached  to  ruins  a  fet  of  ideas,  formerly 
either  little  attended  to,  or  overwhelmed  by  acuter 
fenfations.  Nor  have  they  been  only  regarded  as 
feniimental  objects.  The  neweii  and  moil  fafhion- 
able  mode  of  confidering  them,  is  with  refpect  to 
the  place  they  hold  in  the  pid.urcfque;  and  it  is  chief- 
ly under  this  character  that  they  have  become  fuch 
favourites  with  landfcape  painters  and  landscape 
writers. 

The  pleafmg  effect  of  ruins  on  the  eye,  may  be 
merely  the  confequenCe  of  their  having  been  parts 
of  a  grand  or  beautiful  piece  of  architecture.     The 


ON    RUINS.  201 

relics  of  Grecian  temples,  and  theatres,  or  of  Ro- 
man baths  and  palaces,  the  tall  Corinthian  pillars 
which  fupported  fome  colofial  portico,  the  long 
ranks  of  a  broken  colonade,  the  high-  roofed  cathe- 
dral aile,  and  Gothic  window,  with  its  rich  com- 
partments and  delicate  tracery,  are  all  objects  on 
which  the  nobleft  arts  have  beftowed  intrinfic  value. 
They  are  alfo  rarliks  ;  and  they  form  a  ftriking 
contrail  with  the  ruftic  and  folitary  fcenes  in  which 
ruins  are  ufually  found.  No  wonder,  then,  that 
the  barbarous  hand  is  execrated  which  levels  with 
the  dull  the  fair  remnants  of  a  cultivated  age,  nor 
that  the  eye  of  talle  and  knowledge  lingers  in  filent 
admiration  on  thefe  gems  that  glitter  amid  the  de- 
fart.  In  this  view,  however,  ruins  have  no  pecu- 
liar value  as  fuch  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  lefs  ruinous, 
the  better  ;  and  a  remain  of  antiquity  in  per  feci: 
prefervation  is  the  great  defideratum  to  the  lover  of 
the  arts. 

But  ruins,  ftiH  as  oojtfts  of  f.ght,  are  not  without 
beauties  peculiarly  their  own,  which  render  them 
the  favourite  fubjecls  of  the  pencil,  and  the  admi- 
ration of  all  who  travel  in  fearch  of  the  p'lSwrcfque. 
According  to  their  feeling?,  the  regular  lines  of  art 
but  ill  harmonize  with  the  free  ftrckes  of  nature  ; 
and  in  a  landfcape  they  prefer  the  Hick-built  hovel 
and  thatched  cottage  to  the  neat  uniformity  of  an 
elegant  manhon.  But  m  ruins,  even  of  the  rrofl 
regular  edifices,  the  lines  are  fo  foftened  by  decay 
or  interrupted  by  demolition  ;  the  ftiffnefs  of  defign 


$C2  LETTER      XXIV* 

33  fo  relieved  by  the  accidental  intrufion  of  fpring* 
ing  flirubs  and  pendant  weeds  ;  that  even  the  rich- 
eft  decorations  of  art  feem  not  mifplaced  amid  the 
wildnefs  of  uncultived  nature.  This  mixture^ 
too,  produces  fornewhat  perfectly  fingular  ;  and 
novelty  in  itfelf  is  ever  a  fource  of  pleafure.  The 
ivy  creeping  along  gothic  arches,  and  forming  a 
verdant  lattice  acrofs  the  difmantled  cafernents  ; 
bulhes  ftarting  through  the  caafms  of  the  rifted 
tower,  and  wild  flowers  embracing  its  battlements ; 
are  the  fantafiic  ftrokes  of  nature  working  upon 
patterns  of  art,  which  all  the  refinement  of  mag- 
nificence cannot  imitate.  It  if,  however,  obvious, 
that  for  a  ruin  to  be  worth  preferving  as  a  figure  in 
the  landfcape,  it  muft  have  belonged  to  a  work  of 
fome  grandeur  or  elegance,  and  ft  111  exhibit  the 
faded  features  of  thofe  qualities.  A  mere  mafs  of 
rugged  mafonry,  a  cracked  gable  or  tottering  wall, 
can  give  no  other  impreffions  than  thofe  of  decay 
and  defclation.  They  may,  indeed,  dill  be  piSa- 
refque  in  the  literal  fenfe  of  the  word ;  that  is,  they 
may  with  fuitable  accompaniments  be  happily  in- 
troduced into  a  pictured  landfcape  $  but  this  is  only 
a  cenfea^uence  of  the  imperfection  of  painting  as 
an  imitative  art,  whereby  the  harm  and  prominent 
features  of  deformity  are  foftened  into  eafe  and 
fpirit.  Who  has  not  feen  an  old  lime-kiln  or  dila- 
pidated barn  wrought  by  the  hand  of  a  mailer  into 
a  Unking  piece  of  fcenery  ?  Yet,  I  prefume,  no 
perfon  of  elegant  perceptions  would  choofe  to  have 


on  ruins.  sqj 

fuch  real  obje&s  confront  his  eye  in  the  walks  which 
la.  ;ias  led  round  his  cultured  domains. 

With  refped  to  the  fentimental  effe&s  of  ruins, 
they  are  all  referable  to  that  principle  of 
afibciation  which  connects  animate  with  inanimate 
things,  and  pafl  with  prefent,  by  the  relation 
of  place.  There  cannot  be  finer  topics  for  ad- 
drefTes  to  the  imagination  than  this  circum- 
ftance  affords ;  and  poetry  and  oratory  are  full 
of  examples  of  its  application.  The  view  of 
a  field  of  battle  in  which  the  fate  of  a 
mighty  kingdom  was  decided ;  of  gloomy  towers 
once  confeious  to  deeds  of  horror  ;  of  ruined  pa- 
laces, the  ancient  abodes  of  fplendour  and  feftivity  ; 
of  deferted  towns  where  fcience  and  arts  formerly 
flourifned  ;  of  the  roonefs  choir  and  mouldering 
cloiiter,  once  vocal  to  pious  hymns,  or  facred  to 
contemplation  ;  cannot  but  powerfully  move  every 
fufceptible  breail.  The  general  fentiment  infpired 
by  fuch  fcenes  is  that  of  the  mutability  of  human 
affairs  ;  and  in  certain  tempers  cf  the  foul,  nothing 
can  be  fo  fweetly  foothing  as  the  tender  yet  ele- 
vated melancholy  excited  by  the  contrail  of  the 
ipectacle  before  our  eyes,    and  that  beheld  by  the 


There  is  a  mood, 
(I  fing  not  to  the  vaca.it  and  the  young) 
There  is  a  kindly  mood  of  melancholy, 
That  wings  the  fool,  and  points  her  to  the  fides : 
When  tribulation  clothes  the  child  of  man, 


2C4  LETTER       XXIV. 

V,  hen  age  defcends  wir  ■  rorro  .v  to  the  grave, 
'Tis  fweetly  foot  hi  ng  () .  pal    v  t    p  lin, 
A  gently  wakening  c^l    t>  health  and  eafe. 
I.'ov.  mufical,  when  all-devouring  T«tne, 
Here  iitt:ng  on  his  throne  of  ruins  hoar, 
While  winds  ami  ten-pelts  fwe  -p  his  various  lyre, 
Kow  fweet  thy  dwipafon       [eiancholy  ! 

D    ER,   Ruins  of  Rome. 

But  to  enjoy  this  ftrain  of  meditation  to  advan- 
tage, it  is  neceffary  that  the  place  or  remain  mould 
nefei  to  femewhat  really  interefting — that  the  relics 
mould  be  fumcient  to  afford  feme  aid  to  the  fancy 
— and  that  the  emotions  infpired  by  the  recollecT:- 
ed  fcene  be  of  a  kind  not  incongruous  with  thofe 
we  are  likely  to  bring  with  us  to  the  fpot.  I  can- 
not but  fefpe&,  that  the  Gadiftinguifhing  paiTion 
for  ruins  is  only  a  proof  how  little  their  admirers 
are  in  general  fentin-ientally  affected  by  them.  A 
gay  party  rambling  through  the  walks  of  a  delight- 
ful pleasure  ground,  would  find  an  unpleafant 
damp  ftrikiHg  upon  their  {pints  on  approaching 
an  awful  pile  of  religious  ruins,  did  they  r  y 
feel  the  force  of  its  anbeiat'ens.  Were  they  net 
capable  of  gazing  at  thern  as  mere  objects  of  c 
fity,  they  would  be  fesfible  of  a  certain  incongruity 
of  place  and  occalion.  Whilft,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  genuine  child  of  fancy,  often  too  much 
difpofed  to  a  melancholy  which  our  climate  and  ha- 
bits of  thinking  naturall)  favour,  might  be  led  by 
fuch  an  adventitious  aid  to  indulge  nisi  ..^ve  hu- 
mour to  a  hurtful  excefs. 


ON     RUINS.  205 

Upon  the  principle  of  aflbciation  it  will,  how- 
ever, appear,  that  the  greater  part  of  the  relics  of 
antiquity  in  this  country  can  produce  but  trifling 
effetls  on  the  heart.  The  ideas  they  fuggeft  are 
thofc  of  forms  of  life  offering  nothing  dignified  or 
pleafrng  to  the  mind.  The  cancellated  manfion  of 
the  ancient  Baron,  of  which  nothing  is  left  but  a 
Shattered  tower,  frowning  over  the  fruitful  vale, 
reminds  us  only  of  the  Hern  tyranny,  brutal  igno- 
rance and  g/ofs  licentioufnefs,  which  ftained  the 
times  of  feudal  anarchy.  And  if  we  look  back 
to  the  original  {late  of  our  ordinary  monaftic  re- 
mains, what  mall  we  fee,  but  a  fet  of  beings  en- 
gaged in  a  dull  round  of  indolent  pleafures,  and 
fuperftitious  practices,  alike  debafmg  to  the  heart 
and  understanding  ?  We  are  rejoiced  that  their 
<late  is  pall  ;  and  we  can  have  little  inducement  to 
recal  them  from  that  oblivion  into  which  they  are 
defervedly  funk,  and  which  beft  accords  with  their 
primitive  infignincance. 

But  there  is  a  fet  of  literati  who  will  regard  all 
that  can  be  faid  about  the  pichirefque  and  fenti- 
mental  effects  of  ruins  as  mere  trifling,  and  will 
direct  your  attention  folely  to  their  importance  as 
h'ftjv'::al  records.  This  weighty  topic  I  mall  not 
attempt  to  difcufs  at  any  length.  But  I  may  ven- 
ture to  fuggtil,  that  much  of  their  fjppofed  value 
in  this  refp^ft  proceeds  from  the  notion,  that  what 
would  be  of  no  fort  of  cocfequenee  if  modern, 
acquires  imp"^:i.,ee  merely  from  its  antiquity. 
S 


206  LETTER       XXIV. 

In  a  narrative  of  the  king  of  Pruflia's  cam- 
paigns,  we  are  content  with  tracing  all  his 
confiderable  actions,  and  entering  into  his  lead- 
ing defigns,  without  attempting  to  afcertain  the 
precife  fpot  of  every  encampment,  cr  the 
fcene  of  every  fkirmifn.  But  if  the  antiquary, 
from  the  veftiges  of  a  ditch  and  remains  of 
a  rampart,  can  render  it  probable  that  Agri- 
cola  in  his  march  again!!  the  Caledonians  oc- 
cupied fuch  or  fuch  an  eminence,  he  felicitates 
himfelf  as  the  difcoverer  of  a  fact  of  high  mo- 
ment, and  pafTes,  among  his  brethren,  as  a  moll 
able  and  ingenious  elucidator  of  the  early  hiflcry 
of  Britain.  Now,  this  is  fo  harmlefs  a  piece  of 
literary  parade,  that  it  may  be  fpared  a  rigorous 
fcrutiny.  But,  in  return,  the  farmer  fhouid  be  al- 
lowed an  equal  attention  to  the  improvement  of 
his  land,  and  not  be  treated  as  a  barbarian  if  he 
indiftinguiihably  levels  both  vallum  and  foffa  with 
his  plough. 

Since  the  art  of  writing  has  fubfifted,  a]l  the 
important  tranfadrions  of  civilized  nations  have 
been  tranfmitted  in  the  page  of  the  hiftorian,  with 
a  copioufnefs  and  accuracy  fo  infinitely  fuperior 
to  what  can  be  cone  by  monumental  remain?,  that 
the  utmoft  we  can  expedt  to  gain  from  the  ftudy 
of  the  latter  with  this  view,  is  the  obfeure  inti- 
mation cf  feme  fad,  thrown  afide,  as  it  were, 
by  the  cotemporary  chronicler,  as  not  worth  the 
pains  of  recording.     Whether  in  the   prefent  flats 


ON     RUINS.  2CJ 

of  knowledge   it    be    an    object    of  importance  to 

collect  fcraps    and  rubbifli  which  were    rejected  i:: 

their  day  even  by  monks  and  friara,  I  leave  you  to 
determine  for  yourfelf. 

Farewel  ! 


{  ™*  ) 


LETTER  XXV. 


REMARKS  ON  AN  ARGUMENT  IN  FAVOUR  OF  THS 
REALITY  OF  SPECTRAL  APPEARANCES. 


LEAR  SON,. 

1  N  a  former  letter  I  hinted  to  you,  that  fuperfU- 
tious  belief  was  yet  very  far  from  being  baniihed 
from  this  country  ;  and  that  there  was  a  difpefi- 
ticn  in  fome  perfons,  far  removed  from  the  vulgar, 
to  favour  it.  The  late  Dr.  Jchnfon  was  of  this 
number.  A  narrow  education  and  native  gloom 
of  t;-mper,  might  probably  be  the  c::cumflance3 
which  originally  enflaved  his  ftrcng  mind  to  the 
terrors  of  fuperftition  ;  but  I  am  convinced  that 
he  alfo  fuppofed  a  connexion  to  exifc  between  the 
belief  of  iupernatural  events  in  general,  and  thefe 
on  which  the  evidence  of  levelation  is  founded  ; 
and  therefore  was  theoretically  as  well  as  practically 
credulous.  This  appears  from  the  arguments  he 
frequently  employed  in  firpport  of  fucli  pretended 
events  '>  by  which  we  know  that  he  was  able  to 
rake  an  impreffion  on  the  minds  of  fome  of  his 


SPECTRAL    APPEARANCES.  209 

fubmiffive  followers,  whatever  were  their  effects  on 
his  own.  One  of  thefe,  in  favour  of  the  reality  of 
apparitions  of  the  dead,  which  he  feems  to  fancTtion 
by  putting  it  in  the  mouth  of  the  Sage  in  his 
Raflelas,  has  a  popular  plaufibility  well  calculated 
to  give  it  weight.  As  it  is  alfo  of  a  general  na- 
ture, and  applicable  to  a  variety  of  illufions  which 
have  impofed  on  the  credulity  of  mankind,  I  think 
it  worthy  of  a  particular  examination. 

"  That  the  dead  are  feen  no  more,  faid  Imlac,  I 
"  will  not  undertake  to  maintain,  againft  the  con- 
"  current  aad  unvaried  teflimony  of  all  ages  and 
"  nations.  There  is  no  people,  rude  or  learned, 
"  among  whom  apparitions  of  the  dead  are  not 
"  related  and  believed.  This  opinion,  which  per- 
"  haps  prevails  as  far  as  human  nature  is  difTufed, 
"  could  become  univerfal  only  by  its  truth  :  tkofe 
"  that  never  heard  it  of  one  another,  would  not  have 
"  agreed  in  a  tale  which  nothing  but  experience 
"  could  make  credible." 

Refpefting  this  argument  of  the  univerfality  of 
an  opinion,  it  may  be  faid,  that  as  there  are  many 
truths  which  it  greatly  helps  to  coniimi,  fo,  :nr;y 
errors  have  at  all  times  taken  fnelter  under  it.  The 
caufe  of  this  diverfity  it  is  cf  importance  to  ex- 
amine. 

That  a  great  part  cf  mankind  agree  in  giving 
credit  to  a  thing,  even  though  it  le  fuv^Ln 
which  com:s  under  their  perfonal  obferyatJofl-,  will 
■be  a  very  flight  argument    cf  its   truth,   prc\idoi 

s  3 


2ro  letter     zxr. 

there  be  a  manifeft  fource  of  error  in  the  cafe, 
which  is  of  a  nature  to  operate  equally  upon  ail. 
Thus,  the  once  univerfal  and  ftill  common  notion, 
that  the  earth  is  flationary,  while  the  fun  and  other 
luminaries  move  round  it,  is  not  in  the  leail 
flrengther.ed  by  the  numbers  who  adopt  it,  fince  all 
have  formed  their  belief  upon  the  very  fame  tefti- 
rnony,  that  of  their  fenfes,  which  is  liable  to  the 
fame  error  in  all  as  in  one.  The  fame  may  be 
fciTerted  of  the  fuppoiition  of  a  fupernatural  voice 
fpeaking  in  thunder  ;  of  lightning  being  the  weapon 
of  an  angry  Deity  ;  of  the  place  of  future  punifh- 
ment  being  a  dark  cavern  under  ground  ;  and  of 
various  other  opinions  in  which  uniform  affocia- 
tions  of  ideas  have  occafioned  uniform  deductions. 
To  apply  this  principle  in  the  prefent  cafe.  When 
mankind,  from  whatever  canfes,  had  admitted  the 
belief  of  a  flate  of  exiilence  continued  beyond  the 
prefent  life,  they  muft  have  endeavoured  to  form 
fome  conception  of  the  mode  of  that  exiilence. 
New,  as  the  body  lay  before  their  eyes,  a  liftlcfs 
mafs,  or  was  deltroyed  by  fire,  corruption,  cr  other 
material  agents,  they  mull  necefiarily  have  had  re- 
course to  fome  fubflance  of  a  rarer  and  fubtler  tex- 
ture, which  efcaping  from  this  grofs  and  perifhable 
part,  might  cany  with  it  fuch  impreifed  marks  and 
qualities,  a 5  would  preferve  th^  ilamp  of  perfonal 
identity.  How  metaphyseal  foever  this  procefs  of 
thinking  may  appear,  it  muft  actually  have  been 
gone  through  by  the  rudefl  people,  if  they  thought 


SPECTRAL    APPEARANCES.  2lt 

at  all  on  the  fubjecl.  Further ;  that  form  and 
Jigure  were  capable  of  being  Imprefled  upon 
matter  of  much  greater  tenuity  than  their  own 
bodies,  they  mult  experimentally  have  known, 
from  the  familiar  inftances  of  Jhadows,  and  the 
reflexion  of  their  ima^e  from  water  or  mir- 
rors.  In  thefe  cafes  they  would  plainly  per- 
ceive, that  a  fomelhitig,  refembling  themfelves, 
might,  i:i  fome  meafure,  Hand  apart  from  their 
bodies. 

Thus,  I  conceive,  it  aimofl  necefiarily  hap- 
pened, that  all  nations  formed  fimilar  ideas 
©f  the  corporeal  attributes  of  thofe  who  had 
paiTcd  through  death  without  total  extinction 
of  being,  It  was  no  longer  grofs  body  in 
which  they  were  clad  : — that,  it  was  manifeft, 
was  left  behind.  But  as,  in  thinking  of  the 
dead,  it  was  impoflible  to  abstract  from  them 
fiiape,  lineaments,  looks,  and  geflures,  thefe 
properties  were  annexed  to  a  thin,  airy,  or  fha- 
dowy  body,  which,  while  it  might  be  an  object  of 
fight,  and  perhaps  to  hearing,  was  none  to  the  touch* 

Terconatus  ibi  collo  dare  brachia  circum, 
Ter  fruftra  comprenfa  manuiefrugit  imago, 
Par  levibus  vends,  volucrique  fimillima  fomno. 

Mn.   VI.    yco. 

Then  thrice  around  his  neck  his  arms  he  threw, 
And  thrice  the  flitting  fhadow  flip'd  away, 
Like  winds,  or  empty  dreams  that  !ly  the  day. 

Dkvdzn. 


212  LETTER       XT?: 

This  uniformity  of  conception  refpe&ing  men 
rn  another  ftate  of  exiftence  being  eftablifhed,  it  is, 
I  imagine,  an  eafy  ftep  to  the  fuppcfition  of  their 
-fenfible  appearand  --nder  fuch  a  form.  Reveries 
and  dreams  of  the  fancy  in  perfons  of  heated  ima- 
ginations are  fo  extremely  like  realities,  that  they 
are  readily  taken  for  fuch.  A  mourning  mother, 
filled  with  the  vivid  image  of  her  loft  child,  weight 
eafily,  in  the  dark  and  filent  hours  of  night,  when 
juft  finking  into  difturbed  (lumber,  imagine  that 
the  beloved  form  actually  ftood  before  her.  The 
long-revered  face  of  an  aged  parent,  might  be  fancied 
to  clothe  itfelf  in  a  vifible  garb  of  light,  in  order  to 
confole,  admonifh,  or  inform  the  troubled  and  folitary 
child.  Still  more  readily,  the  murderer,  appaled  by 
confeious  guilt,  and  in  continual  dread  of  an  avenger, 
might  body  forth  the  mangled  corpfe  of  the  ilain,  to 
upbraid  him  with  terrific  looks  and  geftures  for  the 
bloody  deed.  All  this  appears  to  me  fo  perfectly 
natural,  and  fo  correfpondent  to  the  univerfal  hif- 
tory  of  the  human  imVd,  that  I  only  wonder  to  few 
perfons,  among  thofe  who  are  thoroughly  perfuaded 
of  the  reality  of  apparitions,  can  be  met  with,  who 
pretend  themfeives  to  have  been  witneiTes  of  them. 
And  furely,  the  gradual  diminution  of  thefe  fuppo- 
fed  events,  now  amounting  in  enlighted  countries 
almoft  to  a  total  Deflation,  is  a  much  ftronger  argu- 
ment againft  them,  than  the  molt  general  concurrence 
in  their  belief  among  ignorant  and  credulous  peop-e? 
can  be  in  their  favour. 


SPECTRAL    APPEARANCES.  21J 

In  the  deep  windings  of  the  grove,  no  more 
The  hag  obfcene,  and  grifly  phantom  dU'ell ; 
Nor  in  the  fall  of  mountain  dream,  or  roar 
Of  winds,  is  heard  the  angry  fpirit's  yell ; 
No  wizard  mutters  the  tremendous  fpell, 
2-sor  finks  convuKive  in  prophetic  fvvoon  ; 
Nor  bids  the  noife  of  drums  and  trumpets  fwell, 
To  eafe  of  fancied  pang;  the  labouring  moon, 
Or  chafe  the  made  that  blots  the  blazing  orb  cfnoon. 

Minstrel. 

Of  the  various  fuperftitions  which  the  poet  here 
reprefents  as  put  to  flight  by  Reafon,  fome  have 
been  nearly  as  univerfal  as  the  belief  of  appari- 
tions of  the  dead  ;  yet  it  will  not,  furely,  be  now 
afTerted  of  them,  that  they  have  "  become  uni- 
verfal by  their  truth."* 

It  may  be  further  obferved,  that  with  regard  to 
fuppofed  fpectral  appearances,  the  id^a  of  them 
has,  in  different  countries  and  ages,  received  fuch 
variations,  as  might  be  expected  from  the  opera- 
tion of  the  fancy  modified  by  variety  of  ci  cum- 
ftances,  One  remarkable  diverfity  is,  that  fmiilar 
things  are  reprefented  as  paffing  in  a  vilion  and  in 
really ;  and  fometimes  it  is  not  eafy  to  fay  which 
of  the  two  is  intended.  The  famous  defcent  of 
Eneas,  after  all  the  difcuiTion  of  critics,  remains 
liable    to   a  doubt  of  this.  kind.     It  is,   however, 

-X-  Cicero  adduces  this  very  (lime  argument  of  the 
univerfality  of  belief  as  an  indubitable  proof  of 
the  veracity  of  the  Delphic  Oracle. -De  Divm, 
lib.  i. 


£14  LETTER       XXV. 

clearly  in  a  vifion  that  Eneas  is  alarmed  by  the 
(hade  of  He£tor  announcing  the  irruption  of  the 
Greeks  into  Troy;  and  that  he  is  admonifned  by 
the  menacing  form  of  his  father  Anchifes  to  re- 
linquish Dido.  On  the  other  hand,  Dido  herfelf, 
at  the  dead  of  night,  but  not  in  her  ileep,  hears 
voices  calling  upon  her  from  her  hufoand's  tomb  ; 
and  the  realihade  of  Creufa,in  a  form  larger  than  l:fe» 
appears  to  confole  Eneas.  Ovid,  in  his  beautiful  ftcry 
of  Ceyx  and  Alcyone,  dreffes  up  a  vifionary  being  in 
the  form  of  the  drowned  hufband  to  acquaint  the 
fleeping  wife  with  his  fate.  She  ftarts  awake  ;  and, 
as  the  poet  very  naturally  defcribes  it,  looks  round 
for  the  image  fp.e  hadjuft  feen  before  her. 

et  primo  fi  fit  circumfpicit  illic 

Qui  modo  vifus  erat. 

Met.  xi.  9:3. 

This  circumftance  points  cut  the  origin  of  many 
cf  thefe  delufions  of  fancy.  The  mind  ftrongly  im- 
preffed  with  an  image  which  has  been  haunting  it 
during  fleep,  is  fcarccly  able  to  difpel  the  phantom, 
wmlil  the  violent  emotion  which  roufes  from  fleep, 
flill,  in  the  midil  of  darknefs  and  folitude,  keeps 
poXcfilon  of  the  feelings.  The  fenfation  en  waking 
from  a  dream  of  this  kind  refembles  the  tingling 
of  a  bell  after  the  ftroke,  or  the  flam  in  the  clofed 
eye  which  has  been  gazing  at  the  fun.  The  impreffion 
for  a  time  continues,  but  with  lefs  and  lefs  force  in 
proportion   to  the  diftance  from  its  original  fource. 


SPECTRAL  APPEARANCES.  2If 

It  would  be  eafy  to  multiply  inftances  in  which  the 
poets,  thofe  faithful  recorders  of  popular  fuperfti- 
tions,  have  thus  wavered  between  vifion  and  rea- 
lity in  their  representation  of  the  commerce  with 
aerial  beings. 

Variations  in  the  fuppofed  form  and  manner 
under  which  the  dead  have  appeared,  and  in  the 
purpofe  of  their  apparition,  will  be  found  in  all 
nations,  correfponding  to  the  manners,  religious 
fyftem,  and  natural  fcenery,  of  each  country.  Thus, 
fomc  hear  the  Ihriek  of  ghofts  in  the  howling  ftorm, 
fee  them  {talk  gigantic  in  the  grey  mill  upon  the 
hill,  and  recognize  their  voices  cheering  the  hounds 
through  the  dark  foreft,  or  over  the  wild  heath* 
Otii  rs  behold  them  clad  in  complete  armour, 
mingling  in  the  (hock  of  battle,  r.nd  announcing  to 
the  hero  his  approaching  fate.  Where  the  want 
of  funeral  rites  was  confidered  as  the  gre?.teft  of 
evib,  the  departed  fpirit  was  feen  naked,  ftiivering', 
and  with  piteous  looks  and  accents  earneftly  requeft- 
ing  the  boon  of  a  little  earth  to  cover  its  bedily 
remains.  Later  fyftems  have  prefented  cherubic 
forms  of  embodied  light,  haggard  fhades  black- 
ened with  infernal  fire,  and  difmal  fpcclres  entreat- 
ing to  be  relieved  from  the  torments  of  purgatory  ; 
and  I  have  heard  of  a  crew  of  Englifh  fallors,  who 
were  confident  they  faw  their  Wapping  landlord 
pafs  by  them  on  Mount  Vefuvius,  and  march  into 
hell  through  a  fmoking  crevice  of  the  moun- 
tain. 


$l6  LETTER       XXV. 

I  mall  now  leave  it  to  yomfelf  to  determine, 
whether  univerfal  truth,  or  univerfal  illufion,  is 
mofl  likely  to  aflume  fuch  different  garbs  ;  and 
whether  it  becomes  a  man  of  fenfe  and  a  philofo- 
pher,  to  reverfe  the  cafe  of  the  appellant  from 
Philip,  and  appeal  from  the  world  fober  and 
enlightened,  to  the  world  ignorant  and  fanatical  ? 


(    2I7    i 


LETTER     XXVL 


ON    CHEAP    PLEASURES, 


DEAR    SON, 


Y< 


OU  well   know    how  much   in  vain  philofo- 
phers  of  all  ages  have  endeavoured  to  detach  man 
from  the  love  of  pleafure,  and  to  fix  his  attention 
on  fome  fole  and  higheft  good,  which  might  ren- 
der all   others  foreign  and  fuperfluous.     The  voice 
of    nature    within     him    has    proved    too    ftrong 
to  be  filenced  by  artificial  precepts ;  and  mankind 
liave  ever  made  it  a  great  object  of  their  lives   to 
enjoy  as  much  and  as  various  pleafure  as  they  have 
been  capable  of  procuring.     Taking  the  word   in 
its  large  fenfe,  and  extending  the  plan  of  enjoyment 
far  enough,  both  as  to  fpecies  and  duration,    I  fee 
no  reafon  to  find  fault  with  the  purpofe  ;   ar.d  I  ex- 
pect no  benefit  to   arife  from  eftablifhing  one  fyf- 
tem  of  morals  for  the  fchools,  and   another  for  real 
life.      Suppofmg,   then,  the  end  of  obtaining  plea- 
fure to  be,  within  certain  limits,  an  allowable  one, 
the  means  are  a  fit    fubje&  en  which  thofe  who 
T 


2X§  LETTER      XXVI. 

are  experienced  in  the  world  may  communicate 
their  obfervations  to  thofe  who  have  its  leflbns  yet 
to  learn.  It  is  an  interefting  topic,  and  its  dif- 
cuffion  is  fairly  within  the  compafs  of  human  reafon 
and  knowledge. 

The   advice   of  contracting  our  defires,  fo  much 
infilled  on  by  ail  the  moral  preceptors  of  antiquity, 
is  a  very  important  one  towards   the  attainment  of 
true  felicity.      It  would,  however,   be  a  miftake  to 
fuppofe    that   the    fuppreffion    of   defire,    in  itfelf, 
leads  to  happinefs.      There  can  be   no  enjoyments 
without  defires  ;  for  in  their  gratification,    all    en- 
.  at,   as   well   intellectual    as    fenfual,    confifls. 
Thofe    feels,  therefore,   which   infilled    en    the  en- 
tire abolition  of  defire,    as   necefiary   to   happinefs, 
were  influenced  by  an    ai  ificial   philofophy,  which 
fet    out  with  mifunderftanding  man's    real    nature 
and  deiHnafeion.      But,  on  the  other  hand,  unfatisfi  _-d 
lefires,   or  rather,  fuch    is  we  have   no   reafonable 
profpejft  of  being  able  to  fati&fy,    are  the  fource  of 
reateft    calamities    of  life.     The   true   art    of 
txiefs,   then  confifls  in  proportioning  defires  to 
means,  or,  in  other  words,  in  acquiring  a  relifh  for 
tires. 
There  is  fcarcely  a        tion  in  life  in  which  feme 
attentio     to  this  poii  t  is  not  necefiary  ;  for  defire  is 
as   much  di  to  exceed   the   range   of  prefent 

enj.      nent  i      the  in  the  loweft.     But 

u    {  [ary  in  thofe  conditions, 
an  enlarged  plan  cf  education,  and  free  in- 


CH-.EAP     PLEASURES.  2I9 

fercourfe  with  the  fuperior  ranks  in  fociety,  have 
foftered  lively  ideas  of  gratifications  which  fortune 
commonly  refufes  the  means  of  obtaining, 
are  termed  the  genteel  profefiions  are  eminently 
of  this  kind  ;  and  numbers  belonging  to  them  pay 
a  fevcre  tax  for  the  privileges  annexed  to  their  fitu* 
ation,  in  the  perpetual  torment  of  unattainable 
wi  flies. 

Tli e  profcfiion  you  have  chofen,  my  Son,  in  a 
peculiar  manner  forbids  indulging  thofe  defiresl 
which  are  connected  with  the  pofleffion  of  opu- 
lence. To  be  made  happy  it  is  requifite  that  you 
mould  be  made  cheaply  fo  ;    and  I  pleafe  myfelf  with 

ing  that  many  fources  of  enjoyment  v> 
fully  acceffible  to  you,  which  will  fcarcely  leave 
you  behind  the  moft  fortunate  in  the  power  of  fe- 
_  genuine  pleafures.  Taking  for  granted  that 
you  will  feekj  and  will  find,,  the  higheft  of  all  gra- 
tifications in  the  performance  of  your  profeffional 
duty,  I  (hall  now  fuggeft  to  you  fome  of  thofe  vo- 
luntary objects  of  purfuit,  which  may  moil  happily 
employ  your  lei  Cure. 

At  the  head  of  all  the  pleafures  which  offer 
themfelves  to  the  man  of  liberal  education,  may 
confidently  be  placed  that  derived  from  looks.  In 
variety,  durability,  and  facility  of  attainment,  no 
other  can  ftand  in  competition  with  it  ;  and  even 
in  intenfity  it  is  inferior  to  few.  Imagine  that  we 
had  it  in  our  power  to  call  up  the  (hades  of  the 
greeted  and  wifefl  men  that  ever  exifted,  ani 
T  2 


220  LlTTU     XXVI* 

Gblige  them  to  converfe  with  us  on  the  mcfl  in- 
tereflmg  topics — what  an  ineftimable  privilege 
mould  we  think  it  ! — how  fuperior  to  all  common 
enjoyments  !  But  in  a  well  furniihed  library  we, 
in  fact,  poffefs  this  power.  We  can  xjueftion 
Xenophon  and  Ccefar  on  their  campaigns,  make 
Demcrlhenes  and  Cicero  plead  before  us,  join  in 
the  audiences  of  Socrates  and  Plato,  and  receive 
demcnitrations  from  Euclid  and  Newton.  In  bocks 
we  have  the  choice:!  thoughts  of  the  ableft  mea 
in  their  bell  drefs.  We  can  at  pleafare  exclude 
dulnefs  and  impertinence,  and  cpen  cur  deers  to 
\v:t  and  good  fenfe  alor.e.  It  is  neechfs  to  repeat 
the  high  commendations  that  have  been  beftcwed; 
en  the  iludy  cf  ktters  by  perfc:^,,  who  had 
iree  accefs  to  every  ether  fource  of  prat  irl  cat  ion. 
iuilead  of  quoting  Cicero  to  yon,  I  mall  in  plain 
terms  give  you  the  remit  of  my  own  experience- 
on  this  iubjeo:.  If  dcmeilic  enjoyments  have  con- 
n  buted  in  the  firfl  degree  to  the  happinefs  cf  my 
hie  (and  I  iho>Id  be  ungrateful  not  to  acknew- 
kdge  that  they  have),  the  pleafnres  cf  reading 
have  beyond  all  quefu'on  held  the  fecond  place. 
Without  books  I  have  never  been  able  to  pafs  a 
hngle  day  to  my  entire  fatisfaciion  :  with  them,. 
no  day  has  been  fo  dark  as  not  to  have  its  pleafure. 
Even  pain  and  ficknefs  have  for  a  time  been  charm- 
ed away  by  them.  By  the  eafy  provilion  of  a  book 
in  my  pocket,  I  have  frequently  worn  through  long 
sights  and  days  in  the  moil  difagreeable  parts  of  my 


CHEAP     PLEASURES.  221 


profeflion,  with  all  the  difference  in  my  feelings 
between  calm  content  and  fretful  impatience. 
Such  occurrences  have  afforded  me  full  proof  both 
of  the  pofiibility  of  being  cheaply  pleaded,  and  of 
the  confcquence  it  is  of  to  the  fum  of  human  feli- 
city, not  to  neglect  minute  attentions  to  make  the 
mofl  of  life  as  it  pafTes. 

Reading  may  in  every   fenfe  be  called  a  cheap 
amufement.      A    tajie  for   books,    indeed,    may   be 
made  expenfive  enough  ;  but  that  is  a  tafte  for  edi- 
tions, bindings,   paper  and  type.      If  you  are  fatiV 
fied  with  getting  at  the  fenfe  of  an  author  in  fome 
commodious  way,   a   crown    at   a  flail  will  fupply 
your  wants  as  well  as  a  guinea  at  a  fnop.     Learn, 
too,  to    diftinguifn  between  books   to   be  perufeei, 
and  books  to  be  p^jfed.     Of  the  former  you  may 
find  an  ample  ftore  in  every  fubfcription  library,  the 
proper   ufe  of  which   to  a  fcholar  is  to  furniih  his 
mind  without   loading  his  fhelves.     No  apparatus, 
no  appointment   of  time  and  place,  is  neceffary  for 
the    enjoyment   of  reading.       From  the    midft    cf 
buflle  and  bufmefs  you  may,   in  an  inflant,  by  the 
magic  of  a  book,  plunge  into  fcenes  of  remote  ages 
and  countries,  and  difengage  yourfelf  from  prefent 
care   and    fatigue.      "   Sweet   pliability    of    man's 
fpirit     (cries    Sterne,    on     relating   an   occurrence 
of   this    kind    in    his    Sentiir.ental   journey),   that 
can    at     once   lurrender  itfelf   to    illufions,    which 
cheat    expectation    and     forrow    cf    their     weary 
moments!" 

T  3 


iii  LETTER      XX  vf. 

The  next  of  the  procurable  pleasures  that  1  {hall 
point  out  to  you  is  that  of  converfation.  This  is  a? 
pJeafur.2  of  higher  zeft  than  that  o(  reading  ;  fmce 
in  converfmg  we  not  only  receive  the  fentiments  of 
others,  but  impart  our  own  ;  and  from  this  reci- 
procation a  fpirit  and  intereft  arife  which  books 
cannot  give  in  an  equal  degree.  Fitnefs  for  con- 
verfataoii  mull  depend  upon  the  ftore  of  ideas  laid  up 
in  the  mind,  and  the  faculty  of  communicating  them. 
Thefe,  in  a  great  degree,  are  the  refults  of  education 
and  the  habit  of  fociety,  and  to  a  certain  point  they 
are  favoured  by  fuperiority  of  condition.  But  this  is 
only  to  a  certain  point ;  for  when  you  arrive  at  that 
elafs  in  which  fenfuality,  indolence,  and  diffipation, 
are  foftered  by  excefs  of  opulence,  you  lofe  more  by 
diminifhed  energy  of  mind,  than  you  gain  by  fupe- 
ribr  refinement  of  manner  and  elegance  of  expref- 
?ion.  And,  indeed,  there  are  numbers  of  the 
higher  ranks  among  us,  whofe  converfation  has  not 
even  the  latter  qualities  to  recommend  it ^  but  to 
poverty  of  fentiment  adds  the  utmoft  coarfenefs  of 
language  and  behaviour.  There  is  a  radical  mean- 
nef:i  in  debauchery,  which  even  in  the  moil  ele- 
vated conditions  of  all,  communicates  the  taint  of 
vulgarity.  To  hear  the  high-bred  party  loudly 
contending  in  the  praifes  of  their  dogs  and  horfes, 
;-.nd  difcufiing  gambling  quefHons,  intermixed  with 
proffer  topics,  you  could  not  pcffibly  difcover  by 
the  ftyle  and  matter,  whether  ycu  were  liHening  . 
ko  the  mafters  above*  or  the  grooms  below.     It  is 


CHEA?    PLEASURES.  ^3 

by  no  means  unfrequent  to  find  the  left  company, 
the  ivorjl  converfation.  Should  your  character  and 
fituation  for  ever  exclude  you  from  fuch  focieties 
you  need  not  repine  at  your  lofs.  It  will  be  amply 
compenfated  by  the  opportunities  you  are  likely  to 
enjoy  of  free  intercourfe  with  the  moil  cultivated 
and  rational  of  both  fexes,  among  whom  decency 
of  manners  and  variety  of  knowledge  will  always  be 
valued,  though  very  moderately  decorated  with  the 
advantages  of  fortune. 

I  would  not,  however,  inculcate  too  faflidious 
a  taile  with  refpecl  to  the  fubje£t  and  ftyle  of  con- 
vention, provided  it  poffefs  the  effentials  of  found 
fenfe  and  ufeful  knowledge.  Among  thofe  who 
have  enjoyed  little  of  the  benefit  of  education, 
you  will  often  find  perfons  of  natural  fagacity  and 
a  turn  for  remark,  who  are  capable  of  affording 
both  entertainment  and  inftrucliion.  Who  would 
not  wifh  to  have  been  acquainted  with  Franklin 
when  a  journeyman  printer,  even  though  he  had 
never  rifen  to  be  one  cf  the  moil  diitinguifned 
characters  of  the  age  ?  Information,  indeed,  may 
be  procured  from  almoft  any  man  in  affairs  belong- 
ing to  his  particular  way  of  life  ;  and  when  we  fall 
into  company  from  which  little  is  to  be  expected 
with  regard  to  general  topics,  it  is  heil  to  give  the 
conversation  a  turn  towards  the  technical  matters 
with  which  they  may  be  acquainted,  whence  fome 
profit  may  be  made  cut  cf  the  moil  unpromifing* 
materials,      Man,   too,    in    every    condition,    23  a 


224  LETTER      XXVI. 

fubjedt  well  worthy  of  examination  ;  and  the  fpe- 
culatift  may  derive  much  entertainment  from  obfer- 
ving  the  manners  and  fentiments  of  ail  the  various 
claffes  of  mankind  in  their  feveral  occupations  and 
amufements. 

Another  fource  of  cheap  pleafure  is  khejhidy  of 
naiure.  So  many  advantages  with  refpecl  to  health, 
tranquility  of  mind,  ufeful  knowledge  and  inex- 
haustible amufement,  are  united  in  this  fludy,  that 
1  mould  not  fail  moft  warmly  to  recommend  it  to 
your  notice,  had  you  hot  already  acquired  a  de- 
cided tafte  for  its  purfuits.  Here,  again,  I  can- 
fpeak  from  my  own  experience  ;  for  the  fludy  of 
Englifh  botany  caufed  feveral  fummers  to  glide 
away  with  me  in  more  pure  and  active  delight 
than  almoft  any  other  fmgle  object  ever  afforded 
me.  It  rendered  every  ride  and  walk  interefling, 
and  converted  the  plodding  rounds  of  bufinefs  into 
excurfions  cf  pleafure.  From  the  imprefnon  of 
thefe  feelings,  I  have  ever  regarded  as  perfectly 
fuperfluous  the  pains  taken  by  fome  of  the  friends 
of  natural  hiilory,  to  fnew  its  utility  in  reference  to 
the  common  purpofes  of  life.  Many  of  their 
obfervations,  indeed,  are  true,  and  may  fcrve  to 
gain  patrons  for  the  fludy  among  thole  who  mea- 
fure  every  thing  by  the  ftandard  of  economical  va- 
lue ;  but  is  it  not>  enough  to  open  a  fource  of  copious 
and  cheap  amufement,  which  tends  to  harmonize  the 
mind,  and  elevate  it  tc  worthy  conceptions  of  nature 
and  its  author  ?  If  I  offer  a  man  happinefs  at  an  eafy 


CHEAP     PLEASURES.  225 

fate,  unalloyed  by  any  debafmg  mixture,  can  I  confer 
on  him  a  greater  blefling  ?  Nothing  is  more  favourable 
to  enjoyment  than  the  combination  of  bodily  exertion 
and  ardour  of  mind.  This,  the  refearches  of  natural 
hiitory  afford  in  great  perfection  :  and  fuch  is  the  im- 
menfe  variety  of  its  objects-,  that  the  labours  of  the 
longeft  life  cannot  exhauft  them. 

The  ftudy  of  nature  is  in  itfelf  a  cheap  ftudy  ; 
yet  it  may  be  purfued  in  a  very  expenfive  manner, 
by  all  the  apparatus  of  cabients,  purchafed  collec- 
tions, prints  and  drawings.  But  if  yoti  will  content 
yourfelf  with  tfie  great  book  of  nature  and  a  few  of 
its  ableil  expofuors,  together  with  the  riches  your 
own  induftry  may  accumulate,  you  will  find  enough 
of  it  within  your  compafa  to  anfwer  all  reafonabfe 
purpofes  of  in  ^ruction  and  amufement.  We  are  both 
acquainted  with-  an  excellent  naturalifc,*  who,  by  a 
proper  application  of  the  time  and  money  he  has 
been  able  to  ipare  out  of  a  common  writing  fchoo!., 
has  made  hlmfeif  the  pofiellcr  of  more  curious  and 
accurate  knowledge  than  falls  to  the  lot  of  many 
owners  of  the  moil  coilly  treafores.  The  recollection 
of  Lis  modeil  merit  and  fcientiflc  content  will  ever,  I 
am  fure,  endear  to  you  thefe  fertile  {lores  of  cheap 
delight. 

A  tafte  for  the  fablime  and  beautiful  of  nature,  as 
exhibited  in  her  larger  works,  and  refulting  from  the 
varied  combinations  of  her  external  forms,  is  alfo 
productive  of  many  exquifite  pleafures,.  which  few 

■&  Mr.   WJgg  of  Yarmouth* 


226  LETTER       XXVI. 

perfons  are  at  all  times  precluded  from  enjoying.  Td 
feel  thefe  in  a  fupreme  degree,  a  mind  enriched  by- 
literature  and  expanded  by  fancy  and  reflection  is 
necefiary  ;  and,  in  particular,  a  high  relifh  for  poeti-y 
is  almoft  an  effcntial  accompaniment.  Much  pains  do 
not  feem  reqnifite  in  cultivating  this  fpecies  of  enjoy- 
ment, for  it  obtrudes  itfelf  unfought  upon  every  elegant 
mind,  and  the  danger  is,  left  the  defire  mould  too  foon 
exhauft  its  objects.  More  uneafy  longings  after  what 
lay  beyond  my  reach,  have  preyed  upon  my  imagina- 
tion on  reading  descriptions  of  the  (biking  fcenes  of 
nature  vifited  by  travellers,  than  on  reflecting  on  all 
the  other  advantages  which  fortune  and  kifure  have 
to  bellow.  Yet,  certainly,  I  would  not  wifh  to  have 
been  lefs  fenfible  than  I  am  to  this  fource  of  pleafu- 
rable  emotions.  They  may  be  rendered  more  di 
asd  varied,  by  calling  in  a  taflc  for  what  is  properly 
termed  the jn8urefquey  or  a  reference  of  the  natural 
fcene  to  its  imitations  and  improvements  by  the  pen- 
cil. But  this  I  conceive  to  be  almoft  neceflarfly  con- 
nected with  practical  (kill  in  the  art  of  painting  ;  and 
unlefs  it  were  made  fubfervient  to  the  purpofes  of 
this  art,  I  mould  apprehend  that  more  might  be  loft 
by  opening  an  inlet  to  faftidious  nicety,  than  would 
be  grained  bv  viewing  things  with  a  mere  learned  eve. 
This  remark  would  naturally  lead  me  to  confide? 
the  pleafures  to  be  derived  from  the  practice  of  orna- 
mental arts,  and  from  the  contemplation  of  their 
productions  in  others.  But  though  I  am  fully  feniible 
of  the  pleafing  addition  thefe  make  to  the  general. 


CHEAP     PLEASURES.  227 

(lock  of  human  enjoyment,  yet  with  refpect  to  moll 
individuals,  they  fcarcely  come  within  the  catalogue 
of  cheap  pleafures.  A  tafte  for  them  mud  be  formed 
early  jn  life,  muft  be  cultivated  with  much  affiduity, 
and  at  conliderable  expence  both  of  time  and  money. 
They  are  not  of  ail  times  and  places,  but  require 
apparatus  and  opportunity.  They  are  with  difficulty- 
kept  within  bounds,  and  are  continually  difpofed  to 
defert  the  eafy  and  fimple,  in  purfuit  of  what  1*3 
more  complex  and  elaborate.  A  tafte  for  mufic 
appears  to  me,  as  far  as  I  can  judge  from  obferva- 
tion  alone,  to  be  eminently  of  this  kind.  Where 
it  is  marked  out  by  nature,  as  in  fome  cafes  it  ma- 
nifeftly  is,  and  can  be  cultivated  early  and  advan- 
tageoufly,  it  is  capable,  I  doubt  not,  of  affording 
the  moil  exquifite  delights  ;  but  then  it  will  proba- 
bly take  place  of  all  other  ornamental  acquire- 
ments. A  ad  though  fuch  a  facrifice  may  be  worth 
making  under  the  circumftances  defcribed,  yet  to 
make  it  with  a  view  of  creating  a  tafte  for  any  pur- 
fuit merely  amufive,  is,  I  think,  to  eftiinate  falfely 
the  value  of  things.  If,  however,  experience 
fhews  that  irwifical  pleafures  may  be  enjoyed  in 
moderation,  and  fo  as  to  make  an  agreeable  va- 
riety, without  occupying  the  place  of  any  thing 
preferable,  my  objections  are  at  an  end.  The 
fame  may  be  faid  cf  drawing,  and  various  other 
taftcs  and  acquifitions,  concerning  which,  accident 
and  inclination,  if  regulated  by  prudence,  may  be 
fullered  to  determine  the  choice. 


2^8  LETTER      XXVI. 

I  have  now,  I  think,  pointed  out  to  you  fource* 
which  will  f apply  fufficient  materials  of  eafily  pro- 
curable pi,  r.fure,  if  you  bring  to  them  what  is  ab- 
folutely  effential  to  tlie  fuccefs  of  any  external  means 
of  happinefs — a  mind  in  harmony  with  itfelf.  This, 
nothing  but  confcious  worth  and  virtue  can  bellow. 
This,  "  tibi  ipfe  parabis." 

Farewel ! 


(     «9     ) 


LETTER     XXVII. 


ON    ATTACHMENT    TO     CQVXT&Y 


Y< 


OU,  I  doubt  not,  have  experienced  as  well  as 
myfelf,  that  one  of  the  earliefl  pafuons  which  dif- 
clofes  itfelf  in  a  courfe  of  liberal  education,  is 
Patriotism  In  the  moral  fyftem  of  the  Greeks  and 
Romans,  love  to  country  ftood  fo  high  in  the 
clafs  of  duties,  that  he  who  reads  their  writers, 
and  is  impreiTed  with  admiration  of  their  illustri- 
ous characters,  cannot  fail  of  regarding  it  as  one 
of  the  qualities  which  moil  ennobles  a  man.  I 
well  recollect  the  period,  when  itories  of  Curtii 
and  Decii,  and  the  lofty  fentences  of  orators  and 
poets,  inculcating  the  mo-l  devoted  attachment  to 
country,  kindled  a  flame  of  enthufiaftic  rapture 
in  my  bread  ;  and  I  verily  believe  there  was 
nothing  in  which  I  could  not  have  imitated  the 
great  exemplars  of  this  virtue.  Every  thing  in  a 
youth  which  carries  him  out  of  felf,  and  diipofes 
him  to  make  facrinces  to  principle,  deferves  en- 
couragement ;  but  when  a  duty  becomes  a  pafiion, 
it  is  ever  ready  to  pafs  its  bounds,  and  encroach 
U 


23O  LETTER       XXVII. 

upon  fomc  other  duty  equally  facred.  In  my  own 
cafe,  I  confefs  that  I  was  difpofed  to  go  all  the 
lengths  of  a  true  Roman  ;  and  that  the  glory  and 
interefl  of  my  country  became  in  my  eyes  para- 
mount to  all  considerations  of  general  juftice  and 
benevolence.  I  adopted  in  its  full  meaning  the 
term  natural  enemies ',  and  in  confequence  (as  thefe 
fentiments  were  imbibed  during  the  courfe  of  a 
widely-extended  war  in  which  we  were  engaged) 
heartily  hated  a  great  portion  of  mankind.  I 
am  at  prefent  mocked  at  the  extremes  to  which 
I  was  carried  by  this  fpirit,  which  certainly  was 
not  derived  from  parental  inftruftion  and  example. 
But  it  will  ferve  to  illuflrate  the  power  of  early 
impreflions  ;  and  alfo  to  prove,  that  the  imagina- 
tion being  fo  much  more  concerned  than  the  reafon 
in  forming  thofe  impreSicns,  it  is  of  the  highqft 
importance  in  education  that  proper  objects  mould 
be  put  in  its  way.  The  influence  of  thefe  adbci- 
ations  continued  with  me  after  better  principles 
ought  to  have  taken  its  place  ;  and  national  preju- 
dices of  every  fort  had  a  long  reign  over  my  mind. 

Circumftances  have  probably  operated  in  a  dif- 
ferent manner  upon  your  feelings  ;  but  where  a 
point  of  great  confequence  to  the  formation  of 
character  is  concerned,  it  is  not  right  to  trull  to 
their  cafual  operation.  Let  us  examine,  then,  if 
we  cannot  diicover  fome  determinate  piinciples  to 
regulate  our  attachment  to  country.  There  ?se 
two,  ways  in  whieh  this  affection  may  exert  an    h\- 


ATTACHMENT  TO  COUNTRY.        23I 

Hueuce  over  us ; — as  it    fways  our  opinions,  and  as 
it  directs  our  conduct. 

The  opinions  of  men  are  perpetually  at  the 
mercy  of  their  paffions.  Efteem  and  contempt 
run  parallel  with  love  and  hatred  ;  and  it  is  as  hard 
to  find  merit  in  a  foe,  as  to  difcover  defects  in  a 
friend,  or,  ftffl  more,  m  ourfelves.  But  opinions 
thus  biafTed  are  in  reality  prejudices,  and  he  whole 
purpofe  is  the  purfuit  rff  truth,  cannot  too  foon 
get  rid  of  them.  In  the  comparative  eftimate 
commonly  made  cf  cur  own  and  other  countries, 
the  groncft  of  partialities  prevail,  which,  though 
they  may  occafionally  prove  ufeful  to  the  commu- 
nity, yet  are  always  degrading  to  the  individual. 
Lord  Cheiteriield,  in  a  paper  in  the  IVorM,  en 
the  ufe  of  prejudices,  introduces  an  hon£i°t  cobler 
who,  among  other  fimilar  opinions,  entertains  a 
full  perfuaiion  that  one  En^lifhman  can  beat  three 
Frenchmen  ;  and  his  Lordihip  afks,  if  it  would  be 
nVht  to  attempt  convincing  him  that  this  is  an  er- 
roneous  notion.  I  fnall  not  middle  with  this 
queflion  ;  I  fliall  only  fay,  that  I  do  not  wifh  you 
to  be  the  cobler.  I  know,  however,  feveral  per- 
sons, much  above  his  condition,  nay  even  men  of 
learning  and  talents,  who  eftimate  in  nearly  th« 
fame  ratio  our  fuperiority  over  other  nations,  in 
fclence,  literature,  and  every  other  valuable  en- 
dowment. It  is  common  to  fay,  I  am  proud  of 
being  an  EngKfhman.  This  is  an  accurate  expref- 
fion,  for  the  emotion  cf  pride  has  a  great  concern 
U  2 


211  LETTER       XXVII. 

in  thefe  fentiments.  In  valuing  our  country,  \tfe 
fet  a  value  upon  ourfelves  ;  and  flight  grounds 
ferve  us  for  alTerting  a  pre-eminence  in  which  we 
perfonally  partake.  Cut  for  that  very  reafon,  we 
ought  to  fufpedt.  the  validity  of  our  conclufions, 
efpccially  when  we  fee  the  univcrfal  propensity  to 
thefe  local  preferences,  which  cannot  all  be  well- 
founded.  Ordinary  writers  cannot  compofe  a 
hiftory  of  the  town  or  county  in  which  they 
were  born,  or  the  fchool  where  they  learned  their 
grammar,  without  many  ridiculous  attempts  to 
give  them  extraordinary  confequence.  Having 
been  confiderably  ccnverfar.t  with  topographical 
publications,  I  have  had  an  opportunity  of  ob- 
fcrving  the  workings  of  this  little  fpuit  in  all  its 
modes  ;  and  nothing  has  contributed  more  to  make 
me  folicitous  in  detecting  nry  own  prejudices,  and 
labouring  for  their  removal. 

If,  then,  after  a  fober  and  accurate  enquiry, 
you  mould  find  reafon  to  conclude  that  your  coun- 
try does  net  fo  much  excel  all  others  in  learning, 
induftry,  and  liberality  as  you  were  inclined  to 
fuppofe,  let  no  prepoffcifion  in  its  favour  becaufe 
i:  is  yours,  prevent  you  from  admitting  the  fact  with  all 
its  confluences.  Rather  try  to  fearch  out  the  caufes 
which  may  have  impeded  our  p-rogrefs,  or  even  occa- 
f:oned  a  retrograde  motion ; — and  doubt  not  that  you 
will  thereby  render  yourfelf  a  better  friend  to  your 
country,  as  well  as  a  wifer  man,  than  if  you  were  bi 
perfevere  in  fupporting  a  flattering  delufmiu. 


ATTACHMENT  TO  COUNTRY.        233 

Let  mc,  however,  warn  you  (and  myfelf  at  th: 
fame  time)  that  there  is  an  oppofite  fource  of  error. 
Circumftances  may  put  us  in  a  temporary  ill  hu- 
mour with  our  country  ;  and  as  the  quarrels  of 
kindred  are  the  moil  inveterate,  we  may  indulge 
too  bitter  a  refentment  on  the  occafion.  In  this 
ftate  of  mind,  we  mall  be  apt  to  depreciate  her 
advantages,  and  think  worfe  of  her  in  every 
refpect  than  fhe  deferves.  In  the  comparifon  with 
other  countries,  we  fhall  look  at  her  defects  alone, 
and  give  her  rivals  credit  for  more  excellence  than 
they  really  poffefs.  This  is  not  only  a  very  un- 
pleafant  difpofition  to  ourfelves  and  others,  but 
leads  to  error  as  certainly  as  the  oppofite  temper. 
Of  one  thing,  too,  we  may  be  well  afiured — the  t 
a  country  in  which  our  language,  habits,  and 
modes  of  living  and  thinking  have  been  formed, 
is  better  qualified  to  make  us  happy,  than  another 
which  may  be  intrinfically  preferable  ;  and  there- 
fore the  opinions  that  we  have  imbibed  in  its  favour 
are  not,  with  refpect  to  ourfelves,  errors.  If  the 
Greenlander's  chief  delights  are  feal  fifhing  and 
eating  whale's  fat,  he  does  right  in  refuimg  to  ex- 
re  his  icy  region  for  a  climate  more  blelfed 
with  folar  influence. 

If  we  now  proceed  to  confide*  the  conduct  that 
a  reafor.r.ble  attachment  to  country  mould  pre- 
ieribe,  I  queftion  not  but  we  mail  perfectly  a^ree 
in  the  indoles  by  which  it  h>   to   be  regu- 

lated.    It  cannot  fae  doubted,   that  by  the  diih-ibu- 
U3 


2"3"4  LETTER       XXVfl. 

fion  which  Providence  has  made  of  mankind: 
into  feparate  communities,  connected  in  a  peculiar 
manner  by  ties  of  mutual  advantage,  a  corres- 
pondent limitation  of  the  fecial  duties  in  their 
general  courfe  was  intended.  Our  powers  of 
action  being  confined,  the  fphere  in  which  they 
operate  muft  alfo  have  its  boundaries.  Country  is 
the  wideft  extent  to  which  moft  men  can  diffufe 
the  influence  of  their  conduct.  We  are  therefore 
bound  firft  and  preferably  to  promote  the  welfare 
of  our  country,  becaufe  we  can  promote  it  to  more 
effect  than  that  of  any  other.  But  this,  I  think, 
is  not  the  only  fource  of  our  obligations  to  patrio- 
tic. 

The  debt  of  gratitude  which  we  have  incurred 
to  our  country  has  been  very  differently  eftimated 
by  different  moraliils  ;  nor,  perhaps,  is  it  eafy  to 
lay  down  any  univerfal  rule  for  calculating  it. 
That  we  have  breathed  her  common  air,  and  been 
received  upon  her  bofom,  feems  no  great  matter 
for  obligation — it  is  rather  a  debt  owing  to  the 
Author  of  Nature,  than  to  her.  The  nurture  and 
education  we  have  had,  are,  in  moft  cafes,  the 
gift  of  our  parents,  •  who  have  perhaps  employed 
their  utmoft  exertions  to  procure  them  for  vs. 
We  have  been  protected  by  the  public  force  ;  but 
of  this  force  we  ourfelves,  either  hy  our  perfons  or 
contributions,  have  formed  a  part;  and  if  we  have 
only  been  fecured  in  the  enjoyment  of  fuch  advan- 
tages as   the  iubour  o£  our  head   or  hands  might 


ATTACHMENT  TO  COUNTRY.        2$$ 

reafonably  entitle  us  to,  we  may  fairly  be  reckoned 
to  have  balanced  accounts  with  our  country.  Thoft, 
indeed,  who  poffefs  advantages  much  beyond  the 
common  (hare,  for  which  they  contribute  nothing 
adequate  in  return,  and  which  are  held  merely  through 
favour  of  their  country's  inilitutions,  feem  to  ewe  it 
peculiar  fervice  and  attachment.  They  are  penfion- 
ers  of  the  ilate,  and  are  in  honour  bound  to  exeit 
themfelves  in  a  particular  manner  for  its  benefit. 
The  foil  which  feeds  them,  as  it  nourishes  the  un- 
toiiing  race  of  vegetables,  may  claim  their  arms  at  all 
times  for  its  defence.  But  it  feems  enough  that  one 
who  has  done  as  much  for  fociety,  as  fociety  for 
him,  fnould  comply  with  thofe  conditions,  which  the 
lav/i  under  which  he  continues  to  live,  impofe  upon 
h'm. 

.  Thefe  views  of  the  fubje£l  are,  I  think,  juft,  rf 
country  be  regarded  in  the  aburaft,  as  a  kind  of  ge- 
ographical idea  perfonilied  ;  or  if  a  community  be 
coniidered  as  an  afTemblage  of  men,  totally  uncon- 
nected in  every  other  refpeft,  than  the  purpofe  for 
the  fake  of  which  they  have  formed  their  union.  But 
is  it  not  in  fact  fomething  more  ?  Does  not  country 
comprehend  all  thofe  individuals  to  whom  we  lie 
under  every  obligation  that  one  human  being  can 
incur  to  another  ?  Cicero  fays,  finely  and  juRly, 
li  Omnes  omnium  caritates  patria  una  complexa  eft." 
I  may  owe  nothing  to  England,  but  I  owe  every 
thing  to  Englishmen.  When  I  reflect,  that  there 
Scarcely  exiles  on  earth  an  object  cf  my  affection  and 


2$6  LETTER.      ZT.Vll. 

gratitude  which  this  ifland  does  not  contain,  and  that 
all  their  particular  interefts  are  involved  in  its  general 
intereft,  can  I  doubt  that  here  the  active  duties  of  my 
life  are  centered,  and  that  I  ought  to  wiih  for,  and 
by  all  juftifiable  means  to  promote,  the  happinefs  of 
thofe  who  inhabit  this  fpot  of  the  globe  ?  Thus,  the 
patriotifm  that  I  loll  by  placing  it  on  too  extenfive 
but  unfound  a  foundation,    I  recover  again  by  nar- 
rowing and  flrengthening  its  bails.      It  re-appears, 
indeed,  in  a  form  fomewhat  different.      It  no  longer 
makes  me  folicitous  for  laurels  and  trophies  to  deco- 
rate the  Genius  of  Britain  ;    for  well    I   know  how 
dearly  they  are  paid  for  out  of  the  comforts  of  in- 
dividuals.  Still  lefs  does  it  prompt  me  to  wiTn  fuccefs 
to  its  unjuft  projects  ;  for  I  would  not  defire  that  my 
befl  friend  mould  thrive  by  fuch  means.   But  it  makes 
me  ardently  deiirous  of  my  country's  improvement  in 
knowledge,  virtue,  freedom,   and  the  arts  of  peace  ; 
for  every  advance  in  thefe  refpects  muft  be   of  real 
benefit,  not  only  to  a  large  number   of  my  fellow- 
creatures,  but  to  that  portion  of  them  which  includes 
all  whom  I  love. 

If  you  feel  inclined  to  propofe  the  queftion,  What, 
upon  this  fyftem,  would  become  of  your  patriotifm 
mould  the  majority  of  your  friends  be  compelled  to 
migrate  into  another  land  ? — I  will  anticipate  it  by 
freely  confeiling,  that  the  fentiment  would  follow 
them — "  Ubi  cor,  ibi  pat.-ia."  But  fuch  an  event  is 
inconceivable,  unkfs  fuch  principles  and  pi a&k& 
fhould  come  la  prevail  here,  as  would  juftiiy  not  only 


ATTACHMENT  TO  COUNTRY.        237 

indifference,  but  averfion,  to  a  felf-degradcd  country. 
I  think  I  could,  without  murmuring,  or  a  wifh  to 
defert  my  native  foil,  fubmit  to  the  neceffary  diftref- 
fes  brought  on  by  a  decline  of  its  profjJerity,  though 
originally  occasioned  by  its  own  fault,  provided  it 
were  attended  with  juft  fentiments,  and  melioration 
of  chara&er.  Eut  if  it  mould  grow  mere  unprinci- 
pled as  more  diftrefled,  and  take  refuge  from  the 
evils  of  political  difTenilon  in  voluntary  blindnefs  and 
flavery,  I  mould  think  every  bond  cancelled  which 
attached  individuals  to  fuch  a  community. 

But  I  will  not  conclude  with  fo  inaufpicious  a  fup- 
pofi-ion.  I  rather  hope  that  we  mail  be  permitted  to 
love  and  efleem  our  country,  as  much  from  reafon,  as 
we  have  done  from  habit  and  prejudice.  Such,  I  am 
fure,  muft  be  the  wife  of  every  good  heart. 

Adieu ! 


f  238  ) 


L  £  T  T  E  R     XXVIII 


©N    INDEPENDENCE. 


D2AR    SON, 


Oi 


NE  of  the  principal  purpofea  I  had  m  view  when 
I  pointed  out  to  you  the  fources  of  cheap  pleafure, 
was  to  lay  a  foundation  for  your  independence  in  life. 
This  invaluable  poffefllon,  which  fo  many  avow  to 
be  the  great  objecl  of  their  lives,  yet  which  fo  few 
attain,  is  well  worthy  of  being  made  the  topic  of 
a  feparate  letter. 

-Let  us  firft  coniider  how  far  the  idea  of  inde- 
pendence can  be  reafonably  carried.  It  was,  you 
know,  the  boafc  of  ancient  philofophy,  that  by 
following  its  precepts,  men  might  attain  a  felicity 
over  which  nothing  external  had  power ;  and  i\\ 
the  high-flown  language  of  Stcicifm,  the  truly 
wife  man  was  represented  as  equally  fuiheient  for 
his  own  happinefs  with  the  Gods  themfelves.  If 
this  affertion,  when  accurately  examined,  had  lefs 
of  impiety  than  at  firft  fight  appears  (lince  it  was 
founded  rather  on   the  imagined  elevation    of  the 


CM     INDEPENDENCE.  ?^r) 

human  mind  to  an  unattainable  degree  of  perfec- 
tion, than  on  a  debafement  of  the  divine  mind),  it 
was,  however,  chargeable  with  originating  in  falfe 
conceptions  by  the  nature  and  condition  of  man. 
In  fact,  we  are  incapable,  by  our  utmoft  efforts, 
of  railing  ourfelves  above  the  influence  of  contin- 
gencies, and  the  mofl  elfential  comforts  of  our 
exigence  will  ever  be  greatly  dependent  on  things 
without  ourfelves.  After  ail  the  deductions  that 
the  moral  fatirift  could  make  from  our  detires  on 
account  of  their  vanity,  he  could  not  deny,  that 
the  "  found  mind  in  a  found  body"  was  a  fit 
object  of  petition,  fince  we  could  not  fecure  it  for 
ourfelves.  It  is  further  certain,  that  the  fecial  and 
domeftic  pleafures,  thofe  pureft  and  mofi;  fatisfac- 
tory  of  all  delights,  next  to  that  of  confeious  vir- 
tue, are  all  at  the  mercy  of  the  perfons  with  whom 
we  live.  With  how  fmall  a  fhare  of  bodily  com- 
forts life  might  fubiiii,  and  frill  be  worth  poneffing, 
wc  have  not  been  in  the  way  of  trying  ;  but  cer- 
:;.:nl  r  we  are  not  prepared  to  reiign  with  indiffer- 
ence thofe  we  enjoy ;  and  yet  their  continence 
does  not  absolutely  depend  upon  am  own  efforts. 
No  man,  therefore,  ftrictly  peaking,  is  indepen- 
dent. The  author  of  our  bang  has  connected  us 
by  mutual  wants  to  each  other  ;  and  has  given  no 
one  the  power  of  faying,  I  will  /;£  happy  in  fpite 
of  my  fellow  creatures.  Experience,  however, 
',  that  fome  men  are  in  a  high  degree  intks 
ent   compared  to  cthejT ;  and   f.cm  a  fnperio* 


24-0  LETTER      XXV  III. 

rity  in  this  refpect  arife  fome  of  the  nobleft  prero- 
gatives of  the  human  character. 

That  man  may  be  faid  to  enjoy  independence  re- 
latively to  other  men,  who  wants  nothing  which 
they  can  withhold.  If  either  his  utility  to  them  is 
fuch  as  to  command  all  the  return  from  them  that 
he  wiihes,  or  if  what  they  have  to  bellow  is  a 
thing  on  which  he  fets  no  value,  he  is  in  every 
ufeful  fenfe  independent  on  them.  And  if  this  be 
his  fituation  with  refpecl  to  the  world  in  general, 
he  Js  fo  far  independent  on  the  world.  Now,  an 
independence  of  this  kind  has  ineftimable  advan- 
tages. It  makes  a  man  walk  through  life  erect,  and 
feailefs,  bellows  on  him  all  due  liberty  of  fpeaking 
and  acting,  levels  before  him  all  the  artificial  dis- 
tinctions which  keep  one  human  being  a-t  a  dif- 
tance  from  another,  and  by  procuring  him  his  own 
refpe&,  goes  a  great  way  in  acquiring  for  him  that 
of  others,  or  enables  him  to  difpenfe  with  it.  He 
who  is  independent  cannot  be  greater.  Ke  looks 
down  on  the  mofl  profperous  of  thofe,  who  in  the 
purfuit  of  wealth  and  honour  enflave  themfelves  to 
the  will  of  another,  and  feels  an  internal  dignity 
to  which  they  can  never  arrive.  In  order  to  induce 
him  to  act  in  any  particular  manner,  his  reafon 
mull  be  convinced,  or  his  good  will  conciliated  ; 
whereas  the  bare  command  of  a  fuperior  is  to  them 
a  Sufficient  motive.  The  imperious  necefiities 
which  conftrain  them  on  every  fide,  have  no  force 
upon  him.     When   Whifton,    m  the  honeft   f 


ON     INDEPENDENCE.  2  J.I 

hefs  of  his  heart,  reproached  Sir  Richard  Steele 
with  giving-  a  vote  in  parliament  contrary  to  his 
declared  opinion,  "  Mr.  WMfton  (laid  Sir  Richard), 
you  can  walk  on  foot,  but  I  cannot."  Thi* 
was  a  fair  confeiTion  of  inferiority  ;  and  after  it, 
if  Steele  riding  in  his  chariot  could  for  an  inftant 
fancy  himfelf  greater  than  Whifton  on  foot,  he 
deferved  to  forfeit  all  title  to  a  place  among  the 
liberal  and  enlightened  fpirits  of  his  time.  Whifton, 
doubtlefs,  knew  how  to  eflimate  him.  "  Poor 
man  !  (would  he  probably  fay,  on  feeing  him  drive 
by)  hew  low  have  your  wants  reduced  you!"* 
Horace  has  atoned  for  all  his  adulation  by  the  in- 
dependent fpirit  which  continually  breaks  forth  in 
his  works,  and  which  led  him,  in  one  of  hh 
epiftles  to  Maecenas,  very  plainly  to  hint  that  he 
was  ready  to  reiign  all  he  had  conferred  upon  him, 
rather  than  give  up  his  free-agency. 

Hac  ego  fi  compellar  imagine,  cuncla  refigno. 

But  I  need  not  longer  dwell  upon   the   value  of 

-$  Whifton  was  probably  in  another  fenfe  the 
moft  Independent  of  the  two.  The  poet  Limeres, 
fays  Menage,  being  reproached  with  always  walk- 
in"  on  foot,  replied  extempore  in  the  following 
^Digram. 

Je  vois  d'il'uftres  cavaliers 
Avec  laquais,  cartffle  &  pages  ; 
Mais  lis  doivenL  leurs  equipages, 
Et  je  ne  dois  pas  roes  fouiiers. 


2^2  LETTER      XXVIII. 

independence  ;  let  us  proceed  to  enquire  how  it  U 
to  be  obtained. 

In  the  firfl  place,  it  certainly  is  not  t!ie  neceffary 
refult  of  a  man's  abfolute  fituation  in  life.     Raife  his 
rank  and  fortune  as  high  as  you  pleafe,  if  his  ambi- 
tion, avarice,  or  love  of  pleafure,    rife  be^rond  them, 
he  becomes  as  dependent  as  the  wretch  who  receives 
his  daily  bread  at  the  will  of  a  mailer.  Nay*  fo  much 
does  the  habit  of  looking  for   remote  and  elaborate 
fources   of  enjoyment    gain    upon   the   difpofition, 
and  furpafs  all  common  means  of  gratification,  that 
the  higheft  ranks  have  in   almoft    all  countries  been 
diftinguifned  by  their  fuperior  fervility.   in  the  molt 
brilliant  periods  of  the  French  monarchy,  there  was 
not  a  pevfjn  of  quality  whofe   whole  exiilence  did 
not  depend  upon  the  nod  of  the  court ;  and  though 
almoft  uncontroled  lords  of  wide  domains  abounding 
with  delights,  a  cold  look  at  the  levee  frcze    every 
fpring  of  pleafure  in  their  fouls.     That  a  man  was 
nothing  in  France  but  for  the  king,  and  by  the  kinp-, 
(pour  le  roi,  et  par  le  roi)    came  to  be  the  received 
maxim  ;    and  no    methods   were  thought   too  mean 
for  the  haughtieit  of  mortals  to  employ,  in  order  to 
preferve  their  intereft  at  court.     Very  vain,  there- 
fore, it  is  to  propofe  independence   as   the  prize  of 
a  life  fpent  in  the  fuccefsfsl  practice  of  "  Hooping 
to  rile."     The  object  is  loil  in  the  purfuit,    fbr   its 
true  feat  is  in  the  mind. 

To  be  content  with  a   little,    and  to  (ccure  that 
little   by   the    exertions    of  ufeful    induiby,  is  the 


OS'     INDEPENDENCE.  243 

only  certain  method  of  becoming  independent. 
Both  thefe  points  muft  concur ;  for  neither  can 
the  wants  of  life,  however  few,  be  fupplied  by  our- 
felves  without  induflry  ;  nor  can  this  quality  alone 
procure  content.  The  Indian  fakeer  who  fits  all 
day  with  his  arms  indiflblubly  knit,  to  receive  the 
food  that  devotees  put  into  his  mouth,  is  no  more 
independent  than  the  buftling  mifer  of  Horace, 
who  runs  to  the  Indies  through  fear  of  the  demon 
of  poverty.  Thofe,  however,  who  have  made  the 
cultivation  of  their  minds  the  great  object  of  life, 
have  chiefly  purfued  the  plan  of  contracting  their 
defires,  and  forcing  nature  to  be  fatibfled  with  as 
£c\v  things  as  poffible  ;  for  confidering  all  the  time 
as  loft  which  was  fpent  upon  providing  for  bodily 
wants,  they  began  with  bringing  thefe  into  the 
fmalleft  compafs  in  their  power.  This  was  the 
d..cipiLie  of  the  moil:  celebrated  among  the  ancient 
pliilofophers,  of  which  your  reading  will  fuggeil 
to  yon  many  remarkable  examples.  Some  were, 
no  doubt,  actuated  by  vanity  in  this  matter,  and 
made  an  oftentatious  difplay  of  their  fupericrity  to 
common  wants  and  defires  ;  yet  it  cannot  be  denied, 
that  the  higheft  characters  of  antiquity,  men  who 
not  only  harangued  in  the  fchcols,  but  acled  upon 
the  great  theatre  of  the  world,  were  much  indebt- 
ed to  habits  of  abftisence  and  frugality  for  their 
greatneCs.  Many  of  the  moft  iHuftrious  Greeks,  and 
all  the  Romans  of  the  firft  ages,  were  rendered  fupe- 
lior  to  the  allurements  of  profperity  and  the  threats 
X  2 


244  LITTER      ill  VIII. 

qf  advcrHty,  by  the  poiTcmori  of  an  independence  of 
funded  on  the  abiLiniius  virtues. 
rIh:  afceties  of  the    Chriilian  church  have  per- 
haps   carried    this   plan  farther    than   any    of    the 
heathen   philofophers  ;    and    though    the     general 
principle    of  thcfe   mortifications    has    been   abject 
iuperflitior,  yet  they  have    enabled  feme    cf  the 
more  active   among  the    monafric   orders  to  over- 
come diiiiculticG  in    the  way  of  their  religious  zeal, 
which  the  moil  ardent  courage,   not  inured  to  fuch 
diicipline,    rauit   have   ii:::k  under.      Individuals  in 
theie  ibcicties,  confiding  in  their  ability   of   fu  flam- 
ing all  the  hardships   that  men  any  where  fuftainr 
and  of  fubfilling  upon  as  little  as  they   any    where 
fubfid  upon,  have  penetrated  in  their  millions  into 
regions  inaccefnble  to   other  natives  of  a   civilized 
ecuntrv,   and  have   {Iruck  even  favages  with  admi- 
ration of  their  patience  and  temperance.     Even  in 
the  midft  cf  power   and  fplendour,  feme  cf  them, 
like    Xirnenes,   have   practiied   the   auilere  regimen 
of  the  cloiHer  ;  and    thence   have   been   capable  of 
defying  every  thing  that  a  change  of  fortune  could 
inilift    upon  them.     How  many    at    this   day   are 
probably  receiving   the  benefit  of  habits  of  enjoy- 
ing, life    upon  a  little  !    It    is   unpleasant  to  rtatct, 
that  a    ciafs   of   men  who  have   been   able   to   free 
themfelves  to  fuch  a  degree  from  {abjection  to  cor- 
poreal demands,    mould  yet  fubmit   without   refin- 
ance to  the  mcfi  imperious  deipotifin  exerciicd  over 
their  minds. 


ON    INDEPENDENCE.  245 

But  it  would  be  abfurd  to  propofe  to  one  who 
is  deftined  to  live  in  cultivated  fociety,  and  to  form 
a  part  of  it,  an  independence  founded  on  renun- 
ciation of  the  common  comforts  and  pleafures  of 
life.  Had  you  ftrength  of  mind  to  attain  to  this, 
I  certainly  fnould  not  wifh  it  for  ycu,  unlefs  it 
were  neceffary  to  enable  you  to  accomplifh  fome 
point  of  high  utility  to  mankind — which,  in  your 
cafe,  is  a  very  improbable  fuppofition.  But  what 
I  do  wilh,  is,  that  ycu  may  as  much  as  pomble 
become  the  mailer  of  your  own  happinefs — that 
you  may  ever  value  that  true  dignity  of  character 
which  confifts  in  the  free  aiTertion  of  principle, 
beyond  all  the  petty  objects  of  gratification  to 
which  it  is  fo  commonly  facrificed — and  that  you  be 
content  with  fuch  a  {hare  of  the  goods  of  fortune, 
as  your  induftry  and  ufefulnefs  may  fairly  purchafe. 
I  do  not  defire  for  yo,u  that  proud  independence  of 
fpirit  which  is  difpofed  to  reject  as  an  infult  the 
kind  offices  of  honourable  friendihip.  You  will, 
I  truft,  pofTefs  qualifications  which  may  entitle 
you  to  thefe,  without  incurring  a  debt  of  gratitude 
beyond  the  power  of  equally  honourable  fervices 
to  repay.  And  it  has  ever  been  my  fentiment, 
that  one  who  is  ready  to  confer  benefits  on  his  in- 
feriors in  condition,  needs  not,  x+-.y  has  no  right, 
to  fcruple  accepting  them  from  his  fuperiors. 
Every  generous  mind  feels  that  no  pleafure  equals 
that  of  conferring  favours  on  the  defervmg  :  this 
pleafare,  therefore,  as  it  is  eagerly  coveted,   mould 

x3 


246  LETTER      XXVfll. 

be  cheerfully-  imparted.  With  refpect  to  your  pro- 
feffional  labours,  there  is  little  doubt  that  they 
will  be  worthy  of  their  reward.  Whatever  addi- 
tional advantages  your  fituation  may  afford  you, 
it  will,  I  hope,  be  in  your  power  to  compensate 
for  them  by  additional  exertions  to  bellow  plea- 
fure  and  profit  on  thofe  with  whom  you  are  con- 
nected. Many  animating  examples  will  prefent 
themfelves  to  you,  of  perfons  in  your  ftation,  be- 
loved, reflected,  and  ferved,  who  have  yet  never 
in  their  lives  derogated  from  a  manly  indepen- 
dence of  character.  But  all  thefe  have  been 
perfons  of  moderate  defires,  as  wdl  as  of  active 
induflry.  And  from  every  thing  I  have  feen  of 
the  world,  I  am  convinced,  that  more  is'  to  be 
done  towards  obtaining  happinefs  in  general,  and 
its  precious  ingredient,  freedom  of  action,  in  par- 
ticular, by  contracting  the  bounds  of  our  wifhes,. 
than  by  the  utmoit  extenfion  of  our  powers  in 
filling  a  plan  of  unlimited  enjoyment.  This,  I 
believe,  is  not  fafhionable  doctrine  j  but  it  is  that 
which  the  experience  of  my  own  heart  fuggefta* 
It  would  too,  I  am  fure,  have  been  fupported  by 
the  fuffrage  of  your  grandfather,*  whofe  memory 
I  know  you  fo  juftly  revere.  Though  by  no  means. 
what  is  called  a  high-fpirited  man,  he  preferred 
during  life  an  honourable  independence,  by  the 
fimple  method  of  making  nothing  effential  to  his 
happinefs  which  did  not  come  within  the  reach  of 

*  The  late  Rev.  Dr.  Allan,  of  Warrington, 


ON     fNDEPSNDLNCE.  2tf 

his  ufeful  and  low-priced  fervices.  I  wifh  you 
better  health,  ftrorger  fpirits,  and  perhaps  more 
encouragement  from  the  world,  than  he  had  ; — 
more  knowledge,  fuperior  talents,  higher  worth, 
and  a  more  truly  philofophic  temper,  I  need  not 
wifh  you,  though  paternal  affection  is  little  inclined 
to  be  a  niggard  in  its  wifhes. 

Adieu  ! 


{     *4*     ) 


LETTER    XXIX. 


ON    THE    CHOICE    OF    A    WIFE, 


Dear  son, 

X  HERE  is  no  fpecies  of  advice  which  feems 
'to  come  with  more  peculiar  propriety  from  parents 
to  children,  than  that  which  refpe&s  the  marriage 
Hate ;  for  it  is  a  matter  in  which  the  firft  mull 
have  acquired  fome  experience,  and  the  laft  cannot. 
At  the  fame  time,  it  is  found  to  be  that  in  which 
advice  produces  the  leafl  effect.  For  this,  various 
Caufes  may  be  affigned  ;  of  which,  no  doubt,  the 
principal  is,  that  pafnon  commonly  takes  this  affair 
under  its  management,  and  excludes  reafon  from 
her  fliare  of  the  deliberation.  I  am  inclined  to 
think,  however,  that  the  neglecl  with  which  ad- 
monitions on  this  head  are  treated,  is  not  unfre- 
quently  owing  to  the  manner  in  which  they  are 
given,  which  is  often  too  general,  too  formal,  and 
with  too  little  accommodation  to  the  feelings  of 
young  perfons.  If,  in  defcanting  a  little  upon  this 
fubjecT:,   I   can  avoid  thefe   errors,    I  flatter  myfelf 


CHOICE    OF    A    WIFL.  249 

voii  are  capable  of  beftovring  fome  unforced  attea- 

tion  to  what  an  affectionate  defire  of  promoting 
your  happinefs,  in  fo  efleatui  a  point,  may 
prompt. 

The  difference  of  opinion  between  fons  and  fa- 
tlurs  m  the  matrimonial  choice  may  be  Hated  i>.  a 
fingle  pontion — that  the  former  have  in  their  minds 
the  firft  month  of  marriage,  the  latter,  the  whole 
of  its  duration.  Perhaps  you  will,  and  with  juf- 
tice,  deny  that  this  is  the  difference  between  us 
two,  and  will  affert  that  you,  as  well  as  I,  in. 
thinking  of  this  connexion,  reflect  on  its  lafling 
confequences.  So  much  the  better  !  We  are  then 
agreed  as  to  the  mode  in  which  it  is  to  be  conhder- 
ed,  and  I  have  the  advantage  of  you  only  ii\  expe- 
rience and  more  exteniive  obfervation. 

I  need  fay  little  as  to  the  ihare  tint  peribnal 
charms  ought  to  have  in  fixing  a  choiee  of  this 
kind.  While  I  readily  admit,  that  it  is  definable, 
that  the  object:  on  which  the  eyes  are  mod  fre- 
quently to  dwell  for  a  whole  life,  mould  be  an 
agreeable  one  ;  you  will  probably  as  freely  acknow- 
ledge, than  more  than  this  is  of  too  fanciful  and 
fugitive  a  nature  to  come  into  the  computation  of 
permanent  enjoyment.  Perhaps  in  this  matter  I 
might  look  more  narrowly  for  you,  than  you 
would  .for  yourfelf,  and  require  a  fuitablc- 
nefs  of  years  and  vigour  of  conflitution,  which 
might  continue  this  advantage  to  a  period  that  you 
do  not  yet  contemplate.     But  dropping  this  part  of 


7=0  LETTER      XXII. 

the  '..'  \   \.\r.  I  to  confider  the  two 

to  be   ex: 
— 
catkn  ..-._.. 

pged  to   make   a  v 
v  ...  .      .  ,'jq  of  fliar-;  g    a 

;ou  be 
-   y ".  « 
fet  -  Id  prove  tc 

i  and  :,  ar.d 

el    _.-.'" 
.    .  fortunate  ^  -  .hirJj  yoarfelf! 

..L.r. 

\    '■  -  - 

tich  brougi  t  j   i 

l  the  other  ] 
s  were    rej  j  thole  * 

.  be  and 

]  ■      ■ 

•    si 
up  yoor  •..::..  bruit  to  live  io  n::. 

mpariJ :  o    :  -   d 

Hiod  :."  the   voyage   of  life the   intra 

— the   partaker    c;    aD    £  rl — the  Oarer 

u    -    ...    :                   . — the  matli  t  and  . .  trefi 

r.     Are    yon    not    Brack  ...    a 

tenfe    . .'  ■ ini  -    cosfeqaence    it    mafl  be    ol 


CHOICE     OF    A    WIFE.  2  J  t 

to  you,  what  arc  the  qualities  of  the  heart  and 
i!  lderftanding  of  one  who  Hands  in  this  relation  ; 
and  of  the  comparative  infignificance  of  external 
charms  and  ornamental  accomplifhments  ?  But  as 
it  is  fcarcely  probable  that  all  you  would  wifh 
in  thefe  particulars  can  be  obtained,  it  is  of  im- 
portance to  afcertain  which  qualities  are  the  moll 
effential,  that  you  may  make  the  beft  compromife 
in  your  power.  Now,  taftes,  manners,  and  opi- 
nions, being  things  not  original,  but  acquired, 
cannot  be  of  fo  much  confequence  as  the  funda- 
mental properties  of  good  fenfe  and  good  temper. 
PoITelTed  of  thefe,  a  wife  who  loves  her  hufband, 
will  faihion  herfelf  in  the  others  ascording  to  what 
file  perceives  to  be  his  inclination  ;  and  if,  after 
all,  a  confiderable  diverfity  remain  between  them 
in  fuch  points,  this  is  not  incompatible  with  do- 
me-lie comfort.  But  fenfe  and  temper  can  never 
be  difpenfed  with  in  the  companion  fo^-  life  :  they 
form  the  bafis  on  which  the  whole  edifice  of  hap- 
pinefs  is  to  be  raifed.  As  both  are  abfolutely  efTen- 
tial,  it  is  needlefs  to  enquire  which  is  fo  in  the 
higheft  degree.  Fortunately,  they  are  oftener  met 
with  together  than  fepayate  ;  for  the  juft  vr.d  rea- 
fonahle  eilimafion  of  tilings  which  true  good  fenfe 
inspires,  almoft  neceffarily  produces  that  equa- 
nimity and  moderation  of  fpirit  in  which  good- 
temper  properly  con fifta*  There  is,  indeed^  a  kind 
of  thoughtlefs  gcod  r.r.tv.re  which  is  not  unfre- 
quently  coupled  with   wcaknefs   of   undcrfca 


?J2  LETTER       XXIX. 

but  hawing  no  power  of  felf-direction,  its  opera- 
tions are  capricious,  and  no  reliance  can  be 
placed  on  it  in  promoting  folid  felicity.  When, 
however,  this  eafy  humour  appears  with  the  attrac- 
tions of  youth  and  beauty,  there  is  fome  danger 
left  even  men  of  fenfe  mould  overlook  the  defeats 
of  a  mallow  capacity,  efpeciaily  if  they  have  en- 
tertained the  too  common  notion,  that  women  are 
no  better  than  play -things,  defigned  rather  for  the 
amufement  of  their  lords  and  mailers,  than  for 
the  more  ferious  purpofes  of  life.  But  no  man 
ever  married  a  foci  without  feverely  repenting  it ; 
for  though  the  pretty  trifler  may  have  ferved  well 
enough  for  the  hour  of  dalliance  and  gaiety,  yet 
when  folly  aflumes  the  reins  of  domefiic,  and 
efpeciaily  of  parental,  control,  me  will  give  a 
perpetual  heart-ache  to  a  confiderate  partner. 

On  the  ether  hand,  there  are  to  be  met  with 
inftances  of  conquerable  powers  cf  the  underftand- 
ing,  combined  with  waywardnefs  of  temper,  fuffi- 
cient  to  deftroy  all  the  comfort  cf  life.  Malignity 
is  fometimes  joined  with  wit,  haughtincfs  and 
caprice  with  talents,  fourr.efs  and  fufpicion  with 
fagacity,  and  cold  rtfeive  with  judgment.  Eut  all 
thefe  being  in  thonfelves  unamiable  qualities,  it  is 
lefs  neceffary  to  guard  againft  the  ponefibrs  of 
them.  They  generally  render  even  beauty  unat- 
tractive ;  and  no  charm  but  that  of  fortune  is 
able  to  overcome  the  repugnance  they  excite.  How 
much  more  fatal  than  even  folly   thfey  arc  to  all 


CHOICE    o:     A    WIFE.  2|j 

ctbmeflic    felicity,  you    have  probably  already  feen 
enough  of  the  matrimonial  ftate  to  judge. 

M  my  of  the  qualities  which  lit  a  woman  for  a 
companion,  alfo  adapt  her  for  the  office  of  a  helper  ; 
but  many  additional  ones  are  requifite.  The  ori- 
gin  turpofe  for  which  this  fex  was  created,  is 
la;  1,  you  know,  to  have  been,  providing  man  with 
a  help-mate ;  yet  it  is,  perhaps,  that  notion  of  a 
wife  which  leaft  occupies  the  imagination  in  the 
feafon  of  courtfhip.  Be  affured,  however,  that  as 
an  office  for  life,  its  importance  flands  extremely 
high  to  one  whofe  fituation  does  not  place  him 
above  the  waat  of  fuch  aid ;  and  fitnefa  for  it 
ftioald  make  a  hading  confi deration  in  his  choice. 
Romantic  ideas  of  domeilic  felicity  will  infallibly 
in  time  give  way  to  that  true  ftate  of  things,  which 
will  (hew  that  a  large  part  of  it  mud  arife  from  well- 
ordered  affairs,  and  an  accumulation  cf  petty  com- 
forts and  conveniences.  A  clean  and  quiet  fire- 
fide,  regular  arid  agreeable  meals,  decent  apparel, 
a  houfe  managed  with  order  and  economy,  ready 
for  the  reception  cf  a  friend  or  the  accommodation 
of  a  llranger,  a  fkilful  as  well  as  affectionate  nurfe 
in  time  of  ficknefs — all  thefe  things  compofe  a  very 
confiderable  part  of  what  the  nuptual  (late  was  in- 
tended to  afford  us  ;  and  without  them,  no  charms 
bf  perfon  or  underftanding  will  long  continue  t  > 
beftow  delight.  The  arts  of  houfe  wifery  fhould 
be  regarded  as  prifejl-jual  to  the  woman  who  in- 
tends ta  become  a  wife;  and  to  fsleclt  one  for 
Y 


254  LETTER     XXIX. 

that  fhtion  who  is  deftitute  of  them,  or  dii'-r 
inclined  to  exercife  them,  however  otherwife 
accomplifhed,  is  as  abfurd,  as  it  would  be  to 
choofe  for  your  lawyer  or  phyfician,  a  man 
who  excelled  in  every  thing  rather  than  in  law 
or  phyiic. 

Let  me  remark,  too,  that  knowledge  and  good- 
will are  not  the  only   requifites  for  th*  office   of  a 
helper.     It  demands  a  certain  energy  both  of  body 
and  mind  which  is  lefs  frequently  met  with  among 
the  females  of  the  prefent  age  than  might  be  wifh- 
ed.      How  much*  foever  infirm  and  delicate  health 
may  interefl  the   feelings,    it  is   certainly  an    unde- 
firable  attendant  on  a  connexion  for  life.     Nothing 
can  be   more   contrary    to   the  qualification    of    a 
help-mate,   than   a  condition   which   conflantly  re- 
quires that    aili  [lance  which   it  never   can  impart. 
It  is,   I  am  fure,  the  fartheft  thing  from  my  inten- 
tion to   harden  your   heart    againfl:   impreilions   of 
pity,  or  flacken  thofe   fervices  of  affe£tionate  kind- 
nefs  by    which  you  may  foften  the   calamitous  lot 
of  the   moil  amiable  and   deferving  of  the  fpecies. 
But  a  matrimonial  choice  is  a  choice  for  your  own 
benefit,    by   which    you    are   to    obtain    additional 
fources  ox  happinefs  ;  r,nd   it   would  be   mere  folly 
in  their  liead  voluntarily  to  take  upon  you  new  in- 
cumbrances and   diftreffes.     Akin  to  an   unneived 
frame  of  body,  is  that  flirmking  timidity  of  mind, 
and  excefiive  nicety  of  feeling,   which  is  too  much 
encouraged  and* 


CHOICE    OF    A    WIFE.  2$$ 

jTiiat  this  is  Carried  beyond  all  rcafonahle  bounds 
fa  modern  education,  can  fcarcely  be  doubted  ly 
dm  who  conlukra  what  exertions  of  fortitude  and 
fclf-command  are  continually  required  in  the  courfc 
of  female  duty.  One  who  views  fociety  dofely, 
ia  its  interior  as  well  as  its  exterior,  will  know 
that  occafions  of  alaacm,  buffering  and  d.'fguft  come 
tench  more  frequently  in  the  way  of  women  than 
cf  men*  Ta  them  belong  all  offices  about  the 
weali,  the  rick,  and  the  dying.  When  the  houfe 
becomes  a  fcene  of  wretchednefs  from  any  caufe, 
the  man  often  runs  abroad,  the  woman  mufl  flay 
at  home  and  face  the  word.  All  tins  takes  -place 
in  cultivated  fociety,  and  in  cbuTes  of  life  raifed 
above  the  common  level.  In  a  fawaere  ilate,  and 
Ia  the  lower  comUtiorts,  women  are  compelled  to 
undergo  even  the  mofl  laborious,  as  well  as  the 
raofi  difagreeable  talks.  If  nature^  then,  has  made 
them  fo  weak  in  temper  and  confiitut.'on  as  many 
fappofe,  Hie  has  not  fuited  means  to  ends  with  the 
foreiight  we  generally  diicover  in  her  plans. 

I  confefs  myfetf  decidedly  of  the  opinion  cf 
thofe  who  would  rather  form  the  two  fexes  to  a 
refemblance  of  character,  than  contrail  them. 
Virtue,  wifdom,  prefence  of  mind,  patience,  vi- 
gour, capacity,  application,  are  not  fixued  quali- 
ties ;  they  belong  to  mankind — to  all  who  knrt 
duties  to  perform  and  evils  to  endure.  It  is  furcly 
a  molt  degrading  idea  of  the  female  fex,  that 
they  mufl  owe  their  influence  to  trick  and  £ae:T-, 

y  z 


256  L    E   T   T    E   R       XXIX. 

to  counterfeit  or  real  weaknefs.  They  are  ICO" 
effehtial  to  our  happinefs  to  need  fuch  arts ; 
too  much  cf  the  pleafure  and  of  the  bufmefs 
cf  the  world  depends  upon  their,  to  give 
reafon  for  appreher.ficn  that  we  mail  ceafe  to 
join  partnership  with  them.  Let  them  aim  at 
excelling  in  the  qualities  peculiarly  adapted  to 
the  parts  they  have  to  act,  and  they  may  be 
excufed  from  aficded  languor  and  coquetry.  We 
(hall  not  think  them  lefs  amiable  for  being  our  beft 
helpers. 

Having  thus  endeavoured  to  give  ycujuft  ideas 
of  the  principal  requifkea  in  a  wife,  especially  in 
a  wife  ft  r  one  in  your  condition,  I  have  done  all 
that  lies  within  the  compafs  of  an  advifer.  From 
the  influence  cf  pafnen  I  cannot  guard  you  :  I  can 
only  deprecate  its  power.  It  may  be  more  to  the 
purpofe  to  diffuade  you  from  hafly  engagements, 
became  in  making  them,  a  perfon  of  any  refolu- 
fcion  is  not  to  be  regarded  as  merely  paffive. 
Though  the  head  has  left  its  rule  over  the  heart, 
it  may  retain  its  command  of  the  hand.  And 
furely  if  we  are  to  paufe  before  any  action,  it 
mould  be  before  one  on  which  "  all  the  colour  cf 
remaining  life"  depends.  Your  reafon  mufl  be 
convinced,  that  to  form  a  folid  judgment  of  fo 
many  qualities  as  are  requifite  in  the  conjugal  union, 
is  no  affair  of  days  and  weeks,  of  cafual  vifits  or 
public  exhibitions.  Study  your  cbjecl:  at  home — fee 
ber    tried   ia    her  proper   department.       Let   the; 


CHOICE    OF    A    WIFE.  257 

progrefs  be,  liking,  approving,  loving,  and  laftly, 
declaring  ;  and  may  you,  after  the  experience  of 
as  many  years  as  I  have  had,  be  as  happily  con- 
vinced, that  a  choice  fo  formed  is  net  likely  ta 
deceive  ! 

You  may  think  it  ftrange,  that  I  have  not  touch- 
ed upon  a  confideration  which  generally  takes  the 
lead  in  parental  eftimates  of  matrimonial  views — 
that  of  fortune.  But  I  have  been  treating  on  the 
nvoman  only,  not  on  any  thing  extraneous  to  her. 
Fortune  acquired  with  a  wife,  is  the  fame  thing  as 
fortune  got  any  other  way.  It  has  its  value,  and 
certainly  no  fmall  one,  in  procuring  the  defirable 
comforts  of  life  ;  and  to  rufh  into  a  ftate  in  which 
wants  will  be  greatly  increafed,  without  a  reafon- 
able  profpect  of  being  able  to  fupply  thofe  wants, 
is  an  act,  not  merely  of  careleflhefs,  but  of  down- 
right folly.  But  with  refpecl  to  the  fources 
whence  their  fupply  is  to  be  fought,  that  is  a  par- 
ticular enquiry  to  each  individual  ;  and  I  do  net 
think  fo  ill  of  your  prudence  as  to  apprehend  that 
you  will  not  give  it  all  the  attention  its  importance 
demandc.  Another  confideration,  that  of  the 
family  connexions  formed  by  marriage,  is  of  a  fimilar 
kind.  Its  great  importance  cannot  be  doubted  ; 
but  it  is  an  affair  to  be  determined  on  by  the  dic- 
tates of  common  prudence,  jult  as  in  forming 
thofe  connexions  after  any  other  mode  ;  though, 
indeed,  in  no  other  can  they  be  formed  equally 
fljrong.     One   who  is    matter  cf  his    deliberations, 

Y3 


2$%  LETTER      XXIX. 

may  be  trufled  to  decide  thefe  points,  as  well  as 
any  others  that  occur  in  the  practice  of  life.  That 
vour  decilions  may  always  fhew  yem  to  be  poftefTed 
of  a  due  power  of  felf-direclion,  is  the  earneft 
wi(h  of 

Your  truly  affectionate,  &g* 


(     259     } 


LETTER     XXX. 


TALHDICTOB.T. 


A 


ND  now,  my  dear  Son,  I  feel  it  time  to  clofe 
this  feries  of  letters ;  not  that  fubjects  are  exhauft- 
ed,  but  that  other  things  demand  my  attention. 
You  will  perceive  that  their  topics,  fo  far  as  they 
relate  to  morals  and  the  conduct  of  life,  have  been 
of  a  kind,  fupplementary  to  thofe  inftruCtions 
which  you  have  received  in  a  fy  Hematic  way  from 
books  and  lectures.  Of  fuch  inftruclions  it  was 
the  chief  purpofe  to  eflablifh  principles — a  point  of 
moll  effential  confequence,  which  I  hope  and  be- 
lieve has  been  fufficiently  fecured  in  your  educa- 
tion. My  view  in  writing  was  rather  to  place  in 
a  ftrong  and  familiar  light  fome  fubordinate  truths 
belonging  to  the  experimental  practice  of  life, 
which,  though  not  of  the  fundamental  importance 
of  the  former,  yet  are  of  no  {mall  weight  in  pro- 
moting a  man's  happinefs  and  utility.  With  ref- 
pect  to  the  letters  relative  to  points  of  tafte  and 
literature,  it  has  been  their  chief  aim  to  obviate 
prejudices,  and  to  give  that  turn  to  your  thoughts 


260: 


LETTER       XXX. 


which  might  enable  you  to  judge  and  to  enjoy  for 
yourfelf,  without  firft  appealing  to  the  decifion  of 
a  dictator.  For  freedom  of  thinking  is  the  fame 
thing  in  matters  of  greater  and  of  fmaller  mo- 
ment;  and  though  I  hold  it  of  little  confcquence 
how  a  perfon  is  pleafed,  provided  he  be  innocently 
fo,  yet  I  would  not  wifti  him,  even  in  his  plea- 
fures,  implicitly  to  follow  the  decrees  of  cuftom  and 
authority,  left  it  mould  induce  a  habit  of  the  fame 
paflive  compliance  in  affairs  of  capital  importance. 
But  I  need  fay  no  more  concerning  the  drift  of 
letters  which,  I  mould  hope,  fulficiently  explain 
themfelves,  and  do  not  ill  correfpond  to  my  fa- 
vourite motto,  of  "  free  fentiments  in.  iimple  lan- 
guage." 

It  has  happened,  that  the  termination  of  this 
epiftolary  commerce,  is  alfo  the  period  of  your 
finally  quitting  the  paternal  roof,  and  launching 
out  into  profeffional  life.  What  an  intereifing 
period  to  us  both !  How  extenfive  a  field  of 
action  now  opens  to  your  view  !  What  duties  to 
be  performed — what  lefibns  to  be  learned — what 
new  connexions  to  be  formed,  and  new  fcenes  to 
be  engaged  in  !  How  much  attention  will  be  re- 
quinte  in  order  to  avoid  being  in  fome  meafure 
bewildered  in  the  variety  of  objects  that  will  pre- 
Cent  themfelves  to  you  ;  and  how  much  will  it  be- 
hove you  to  fix  your  eyes  fledfafily  on  the  two 
cardinal  points  of  duty  and  improvement !  You 
will  meet  with   (doubt   it    not!)  ureas  of  various 


VALEDICTORY  l6l 

kinds  to  tctr.pt  you  out  of  your  courfe.  Be  on 
your  guard  againft  them  al1,  and  principally 
againft    the  "  improba   firen  efe/iefia" — for  that  is 

the  charmer  whofe  voice  has  ever  proved  moft 
enfnaring  to  thofe  of  your  profeflion.  Many  and 
many  admonitions  and  counfels  mould  I  add,  were 
my  pen  to  utter  all  my  heart  conceives  en  thk 
cccaficn— -but  to  prepare  you  for  it  is  not,  I  truft, 
a  bufinefs  now  to  do.  To  yourfelf  I  commit  you, 
with  "  Providence  your  guide.''  My  dear  Arthur, 
a  long  farewel ! 

Your  moft  affectionate 

friend  and  father, 

J.  A. 

London,  Nov.  8,  1793. 


T  HE    E  N  D 


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